


Good and Lost

by garbagebreath



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Richie Tozier Has ADHD, Slow Burn, Sonia Kaspbrak’s A+ parenting, book canon, it’s a very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-08-24 12:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16639676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbagebreath/pseuds/garbagebreath
Summary: “Stay away from the sewers, there are monsters lurking around in there. Seen ‘em myself.”“Monsters like you?”“Oh, you betcha.”Alt: In which Richie Tozier falls in love with Eddie Kaspbrak - rather, Richie Tozier realizes that he’s always been in love with Eddie Kaspbrak.





	1. Chapter 1

It started on Halloween, as most things in Derry, Maine usually do. The night dedicated to fear was a town favorite amongst the civilians within Derry, as the self titled ‘ _Most Haunted City in the Continental United States_ ’ it seemed only fitting for the townsfolk to go all out for their designated favorite holiday. The Halloween spirit made it’s way into Derry High School without fail, every single year. While the teens outgrew trick or treating years ago, that didn’t stop them from finding ways to entertain themselves in the spirit of the spooky month of October. Namely, the _Monster Mash Ball_ that took place the moment the sun set on October 31st every year. The students would dress in their most horrifying costumes, which were usually fairly hoaky, and show up to the dance to drink the blood colored fruit punch that was almost certainly spiked.

Richie Tozier could say with absolute certainty, that he never once cared for attending one of those dances. As lame as it may sound, _and boy did it sound lame,_  Richie always preferred the Halloween tradition he and his friends had. Which was a simple trip to their clubhouse in the Barrens, dressing up in the most ridiculous costumes they could find and eating enough candy to send the Losers’ straight to Dr. Wentworth Tozier to have their cavities filled.

None of the lucky seven were all that fond of Halloween, it was a mutual understanding they all had that didn’t _really_ make a lot of sense if Richie thought hard about it.

There were always instances, usually in mid October, where Big Bill would get a distant and extremely _sad_ look in his usually stoic blue eyes. Where Richie would gently bump his shoulder and ask, “ _What’s up, Doc?_ ” in his silliest of Bugs Bunny voices because he got _concerned_ when Bill would stare into nothingness as if he wished that’s where he were, and humor was all that Richie could offer.

Every year, Bill would just sigh - _raggedly_ , and tiredly. “S-Suh-Seven years.” Is all he said in October of 1964, only a month after Richie’s eighteenth birthday. Richie wasn’t an idiot, forgetful perhaps, but stupid he wasn’t.

He couldn’t remember the Denbrough boy’s name and he honestly couldn’t remember what happened to him, which was troublesome all on it’s own, but he could remember the wide blue eyes that mirrored his older brother’s and the oversized and worn raincoat that looked so bright and yellow in the small dreary town of Derry. So maybe it did make sense, that the Losers’ hated Halloween, when Richie _really_ thought about it. Regardless, he tried to avoid thinking about it.

On the evening of October 31st, Richie Tozier’s bike flew across the pavement as he made his way towards the Barrens. He had made this trip hundreds - _hell_ , thousands of times. It was second nature at this point, peddling in the center of the empty road and keeping the Kenduskeag in his peripheral as he followed the stream that led into the Barrens. The only people who were out and about at this time of night were elementary schoolers in plastic masks holding huge bags that would surely be stuffed with candy by the end of the night.

He slowed his bike down as he passed by a particularly large group of kids, all huddled around a storm drain taking turns dropping pieces of candy corn.

“Oi!” Richie crowed in his impression of Officer Nell. The group of children startled, and turned around with wide fearful eyes at the sound of what they immediately assumed was the town’s police chief. Richie grinned, the faux fangs he wore rested alongside his oversized front teeth. “Buncha kiddos like yew needta stay away from tha sewers, what would yer parents think?”

“Why should we listen to you?” A kid, wearing a Frankenstein mask too large for his head, challenged. And _oh man_ , he was glad this kid wasn’t around during the reign of Henry Bowers. Richie remembered a time when his smart ass mouth would get him in trouble with the older kids - he supposed it still _would_ if Henry and his goons weren’t either locked up in Juniper, dead, or pretending Henry Bowers’ never existed in the first place.

“None of you kids are afraid of werewolves?” Richie asked, holding up a clawed hand that was covered in fake hair as representation. The kids expressions were hidden behind their masks, but Richie liked to imagine he was terrifying them.

“Werewolves are for babies.” A kid dressed in a Creature from the Black Lagoon mask spoke up. A murmur of agreement rose amongst the children.

“Yowza… kids have no fucking respect for their elders these days.” Richie shook his head sadly, he started slowly peddling his bike again with red Converse clad feet. He pointed a finger at the kids, “Stay away from the sewers, there are monsters lurking around in there. Seen ‘em myself.”

“Monsters like you?” A kid piped up, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

“Oh, you betcha.” The teen shot a wolfish grin towards the group, before he was riding away with his eyes still trained on the Canal. With a boisterous laugh, Richie threw his head back and howled at the moon. From the sidewalk, all the kids could see was the letterman jacket that had ‘ _Richie Tozier_ ’ written in big white block letters and the head of dark curls thrown back with his face angled towards the full moon.

The kid in the Frankenstein mask cast a glance downwards towards the storm drain - the slow and steady plop of water was all that could be heard from inside the pitch black opening. He decided to step further back on the sidewalk. “C’mon, I heard Dennis say they’re giving out full sized candy bars on Witcham.”

The trail down to the Barrens would be considered treacherous by anyone who didn’t regularly walk it, there were tree roots and jagged rocks sticking out of the dirt in every direction and finding proper footing down the slope of land that was covered with trees and bushes was extremely difficult. Lucky for Richie Tozier, he knew the trail like he knew the back of his own hand. He threw a foot out to stop his bike when he caught sight of a silver glint from underneath one of the nannyberry bushes.

Richie walked his bike by the handles into the shrubs and dropped it atop the other four bicycles already hidden under the tangle of branches and leaves.

The Losers’ never had to worry about their unattended bikes, after all, no one ever came down to the Barrens except for them. The townsfolk of Derry didn’t want to splash around in the murky waters of the Kenduskeag stream that contained traces from the sewer. Richie didn’t blame them, of course, but the lucky seven never did a lot of splashing around.

As he made his way down the slope (with practiced ease) and bypassed the stream altogether, he came to a stop in front of a patch of leaves and dirt - a patch that if you looked at closely enough, you would see that it wasn’t placed as naturally as the rest of the land around it. He crouched down and brushed some of the leaves away to see the wooden boards obscured by the dirt.

He rapped his knuckles to the beat of Peggy Sue, and within seconds the door leading into the ground opened and displayed the agitated faces of his six favorite people.

In between the circle of Losers’ was an oil lantern, lighting the entire underground clubhouse up with a dull orange glow. Surrounding the lantern was piles of sweetarts, m&m’s, dum dum pops and pixy stix. Richie could already feel the future cavities, and he could definitely hear his Pops groaning about eating too much junk food.

“ _Move it_ Losers’ move it.” Richie crowed in the Jersey impression he picked up when his Uncle Roger visited Derry. “The party’s here _baaaaby._ ”

“More like the fleas are here.” Stan Uris - who looked completely different with his brown curls slicked back to mimic Dracula’s hair - deadpanned, but he shifted to the left so Richie could cram in between himself and Eddie Kaspbrak.

“Aw Richie.” Eddie complained as a bony elbow jammed it’s way into his side, he swatted at the tangle of lanky limbs trying to squeeze their way into the circle of seven. “I get a new bruise every time I’m around you.”

“Baby, if you can’t take the heat…” Richie leaned over and pinched Eddie’s side, which resulted in the smaller teen squeaking in annoyance and swatting at the dirt covered fingers trying to tickle his ribs. The asthmatic was wearing a navy sweater that seemed several sizes too big for him on top of a button up, Richie scanned the outfit with an arched brow. “God damn Eds, that’s the most realistic Eddie Kaspbrak costume I’ve ever seen.”

The brunet’s upper lip curled in disgust, and he smacked Richie’s letterman jacket covered shoulder. “I’m _Norman Bates,_ ding-bat.”

“And these wouldn’t happen to be clothes you already owned?” Richie asked, lifting up the sleeve of Eddie’s sweater with the ends of his fingertips. Eddie yanked his arm back so it was held against his chest.

“ _No_.” Then he frowned and stared down at the sweater. “It was my dad’s.”

Guiltily, Richie averted his focus back onto the other five Losers’ who were calmly eating candy and tossing wrappers wherever there was an empty spot on the ground. Aside from Stan, who neatly stacked the wrappers on the ground next to his crossed legs. Beverly, dressed as Holly Golighty, in a black dress and pearls, was a sight for sore eyes - her head was rested on Mike Hanlon’s shoulder, who had on a eccentric rockstar outfit. “Little Richard?” Richie asked, pointing to his outfit.

“You know it, Trashmouth.” Mike immediately reciprocated the high five Richie sent his way.

Bill Denbrough had his orange hair parted, a Riverdale high tee shirt hidden behind a jacket that was so big it clearly belonged to Ben Hanscom. Richie supposed Bill hadn’t planned for the chilly weather in his Archie Andrews get up - and Ben Hanscom always had coats to spare.

Speaking of Ben Hanscom, the boy was bashfully sitting between Bill and Stan, he wore a pair of overalls with a chain that clearly belonged on Will Hanlon’s farm draped around his neck. In between his fingers was a dum dum pop, one that was still in the wrapper that Ben didn’t look like he had any plans of actually eating. Richie placed his chin on his opened palm, and leaned forward so that his elbow rested on top of his knee. “I’ll be damned, if it isn’t _Haystack Calhoun_.”

Ben’s cheeks reddened, but a smile graced his features. “You bet your fern it is.”

“Get over here Benny, I needta smack one on you.” Richie started to crawl over Stan, who grabbed him by the collar of his letterman jacket and pushed him back into his spot.

“You’re such a smartass, T-Tuh-Tozier.” Bill huffed, he was emptying out Pixy Stix sugar into his opened mouth as he said it - which only served to muffle his voice. With the door to the clubhouse shut behind them, Richie could barely make out the smirk on Bill’s face - the oil lantern seemed to be slowly fading from a bright orange to a much darker red color. The atmosphere was perfectly spooky, for Halloween night.

“Better a smartass than a dumbass.” The bespectacled teen shrugged, he pushed his glasses up his nose with the tip of his finger.

As the candy was devoured throughout the hour, Richie found that his motormouth was far more occupied with the array of sweets that had mostly been provided by Ben and Bill than it was with talking. He knew his silence would wear off the minute the candy disappeared. Sugar always gave Richie an extra buzz, that he knew he didn’t really need - as hyperactive as he was by nature. But hell, it wasn’t like he was going home tonight. His hyperactivity would be the problem of the lucky seven and Bill Denbrough’s less than enthusiastic parents alone.

The glow from the lantern was a deep, barely visible red by the time the treats disappeared. It was so dark in the fort that Richie couldn’t see his own hands in front of him when he slapped them together to get the Losers’ attention. “So…” The eighteen year old started, his hair covered palms rubbed together in front of his magnified blue eyes. “How’s about we blow this popsicle stand and see if we can find any foxy vampires hanging around Big Bill’s place?”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Bill spoke, but he lifted the door to the fort anyways - letting in a stream of moonlight that seemed so bright compared to the lantern that slowly diminished with every second.

“Like any foxy vampires would make a move on _you_ , Tozier.” Beverly giggled, as she stood she made sure to lean over and flick the top of Richie’s curly hair covered forehead. Richie hopped up, instinctually holding his hand out for Eddie Kaspbrak to grab ahold of to lift the smaller teen to his feet.

“Ahn the contraire, Miss Marsh.” Richie gruffed out in his Foghorn Leghorn voice. Eddie’s hand was still clasped in his, and the warmth radiating from the small palm was enough to have the bespectacled teen entwining their fingers together. Eddie huffed, it was a flustered sound, but he didn’t move to yank his palm from Richie’s as they stepped back onto the mud covered banks of the Barrens. “Draculah ov’r there,” Richie used his thumb, with a bright red band aid on the end of it, to jerk it in the direction of Stan Uris. “Fo’ shore has eyes for this dawg. Ol’ boy can’t keep ‘is eyes awf me!”

He fully expected the smack Stan directed to the back of his head.

It killed Ben to leave the mess inside of the clubhouse he did most of the building on, but none of them were keen on shoving three hundred candy wrappers into their pockets and down their shirts when they could wait until tomorrow to smuggle a garbage bag from the Denbrough’s and clean up the mess during the light of day.

So the door was shut, and Richie let go of Eddie’s hand to help Ben kick dirt and leaves over the wood to obscure it from sight once again.

After many Halloweens of the same repeated routine, the Losers’ had a fairly good idea of how to avoid the obstacles that may have confronted them throughout the night. For starters, they always made sure to keep a spare change of clothes at Bill’s house - so when they had a sleepover, they weren’t stuck in the uncomfortable clothes (or in this case, costume) they wore all day. Another recurring issue, were Alvin Marsh and Sonia Kaspbrak.

Beverly, over the years, convinced her parents that she studied with a girl named Deborah Johnson. Since the Johnson’s lived on the other side of town, the Marsh’s never had the chance to question Deborah’s family about it. But, Alvin was still _suspicious_ of his daughter. If it weren’t for Elfrida Marsh, Richie supposed there would be many days where the Losers’ didn’t get to see Beverly. The thought made him shiver.

Every year on Halloween, Beverly told her parents she was going to the Monster Mash Ball with Deborah - and would spend the night at her house afterwards. The lie came so naturally after all of these years, that her parents either didn’t have the mind to - or didn’t care enough to question it.

Sonia Kaspbrak, on the other hand, was an entirely different story.

It didn’t quite matter _what_ Eddie told Sonia, she didn’t want her precious Eddie Bear leaving the house on Halloween night. Which, Richie guessed was a valid concern, if Mrs. Kaspbrak weren’t completely batshit he might even think she had her son’s best intentions in mind. So - Eddie snuck out of his house, every Halloween night and walked to the Barrens.

This always left two of the Losers’ without bikes. Beverly, because her parents’ couldn’t afford a bicycle and didn’t see a reason for a teenage girl to have one anyways and Eddie, because Sonia would immediately notice his absence if his bike was missing from the front yard. Luckily for Bev, she didn’t mind riding on the handlebars of one of the boys’ bikes. She usually opted to ride on Stan’s, because in her words ‘ _his handles have the most padding.’_

It made sense to Richie.

Eddie wasn’t keen on riding handlebar style - he insisted that he would rather walk home alone than sit on the handles of any of their bikes. Of course, none of the Losers made him walk home by himself.

“Is it my turn to walk Spaghetti Man home?” Richie asked as he untangled his bicycle from the bushes and set it flat against the pavement. Eddie rolled his eyes, but stayed close to the teenager dressed as a werewolf.

“You walk with me every year.”

“Well Eds, I have to make sure the cutest boy in Derry gets home safe.” The teen smiled slyly, and dodged the punch the brunet aimed at his arm. If Richie didn’t think he was cute before, the flustered pink on his pale cheeks made him all the more adorable.

“Could you start calling me by my _name,_  you wet end.”

“Oh baby, I’ll _show_ you a wet end.”

It didn’t take long after that for the other five Losers to mount their bikes and book it down the road towards the Denbrough home. Beverly hopped on Stan’s handlebars with ease and shot Richie a knowing look, and a flying kiss that he caught from the air before Stan started to peddle away - not without an added grumble under his breath about being _so_ glad he wouldn’t have to walk home with Richie and Eddie bickering the whole way.

Richie couldn’t be fooled by Eddie’s false aggravation about the arrangement, they walked home together every year. And if Eddie didn’t want Richie to walk with him, he would have made it known _years_ ago.

“I’m starting to feel like an actual fucking pooch.” Richie complained, with one hand scratching the irritated skin under his faux sideburns. His other hand was positioned on the handle of his bike that he was slowly walking to keep pace with Eddie, who had his thin arms wrapped around his chest as he meandered down the street. “This hair is making me itch like _hell_. No wonder Michael Landon always acted like he had a pair of drawers shoved up his asscrack.”

Eddie snorted, which he quickly tried to cover up with a cough. But Richie saw the crinkles by his eyes and the amused tilt to his lips - it always made him feel a bit lightheaded when he made Eddie laugh. The brunet wasn’t as talkative as Richie (Richie wasn’t sure _anyone_ was as talkative as he was) but he wasn’t ever quiet.

That’s the first thing Richie noticed about his friend on this particular Halloween, Eddie was being extremely _quiet_. He scoffed and rolled his eyes when necessary, but for the most part - he seemed _distracted._

“You feelin’ okay, Spaghetti?” Richie asked awkwardly, they were just approaching the more suburban area of Derry that Bill lived in - and despite the fact that it was too late for the elementary school trick or treaters to be out, it wasn’t too late for the high schoolers coming home from the Mash. The last thing Richie Tozier needed was a group of wannabe Bowers calling him a queer for walking Eddie Kaspbrak home.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s nose wrinkled as he glanced up at Richie, his shoulder brushed against the teen’s. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“For starters, you let me call you Spaghetti.”

“You call me Spaghetti no matter what I do.” Eddie grumbled, his hand slipped into the front pocket of his jeans - and Richie knew from years of experience that he was feeling for his inhaler. At this point, it was more of a nervous habit than an indication that Eddie was having an asthma attack. The brunet huffed through his nose and then looked up at Richie again with the kind of agitation on his face that wasn’t inherently directed towards the taller teen. “Do you think I act like Norman Bates?”

Richie blinked, stopping in the middle of the street with his bike still in his hands. Confused, the bespectacled teen slowly shook his head, “Eds, is this about the sweater because-.”

“It’s not just that.” Eddie interrupted, he swiped a hand through his styled brown hair - which immediately caused it to fall from it’s perfectly kept gelled back state and land in random strands on his forehead. “It’s… didn’t you watch the movie, Rich?”

He did. At the Aladdin with the Losers on Ben’s 14th birthday, halfway through October of 1960. From what he remembered, Norman Bates was a complete fucking creep. Staring down at Eddie Kaspbrak, his honey eyes that were a beautiful mix of vulnerability and strength… he didn’t understand the comparison at all. “Yeah…” He started, his eyebrows - still heavy with the fake werewolf hair he glued into them, furrowed. “That’s why I’m not catching the reference, my love.”

“I hated that movie.” Eddie said, as if that was an explanation. He gingerly rubbed his arms over his sleeves, and Richie wondered if the hypochondriac was cold. “The way Norman’s mom treated him… it felt so much like…” The brunet’s breath caught and he looked up at Richie with sad brown eyes. “You understand? Don’t you? You’re afraid of that dumb werewolf.”

Eddie gingerly grabbed the sleeve of Richie’s letterman jacket and he felt his face redden. Either from the contact or Eddie’s words - he wasn’t too sure. “It’s not really the werewolf I’m afraid of.” He coughed, and Eddie’s arm dropped back to his side.

“Richie, I know you better than you think I do.” Richie knew that. He knew that his friends knew him well, he knew that _Eddie_ knew him well. He didn’t need to be told.

“Okay Eds, then let’s make a deal.” Richie leaned against the handles of his bike as he looked over at Eddie with a sly grin. The asthmatic was staring at him with an unhindered look of curiosity. “Both of us will get over our dumb fears of hoaky movie monsters through the magic of friendship.” A crooked toothed grin spread across Richie’s face, and Eddie grinned back - gently shoving at his shoulder so he stumbled against the bike.

“Don’t be a jackass.”

“I’m being serious!” Richie gasped, shoving Eddie’s shoulder right back. He leaned forward, one finger pointed outwards towards Eddie. “Think about it this way Eds, would Norman Bates ever have a friend like me?”

Eddie was smiling. “No.”

“And would _Norman_ ever tell his mom off when she tries to stop him from seeing his incredibly badass friends?”

”Definitely not.”

“Then there you go!” Richie crowed enthusiastically, he wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and pulled the smaller teen into his side. “That’s what the Losers are here for Eddie Spaghetti, to remind you that you’re better than you think you are.”

Eddie’s dark eyes seemed brighter, the street light directly above them lit up his face and in that moment - he wasn’t just the cutest boy in Derry. He was the most beautiful boy in Maine too. He always had been pretty beautiful, Richie supposed. Braver and stronger than he gave himself credit for, and with a smile that could make anyone feel better. And maybe, Richie just liked looking at him.

“Didn’t know you were such a _softie,_  Tozier.” Eddie laughed, and his breath smelled like lollipops and those gross mints he kept in his pockets at all times. “Ben might have competition.”

“Ahm only a sawftie fa’ you _baby._ ” Richie leaned down and planted a kiss on Eddie’s cheek, his nose brushed against the teen’s earlobe and he could hear the sharp intake of breath from his best friend. Richie felt a small hand wrap around the front of his letterman jacket and push, too quickly for him to regain his balance whenever he was playfully shoved. He fell in a heap on top of his bicycle, a peddle digging into his spine and his head clunking against the pavement. His glasses, which were already broken anyways, flew onto the concrete next to him and one of the lenses shattered against the ground.

It was hard to make out Eddie standing over him while his vision was spiraling, stars in his eyes, but he managed to reach a hand behind his own head and rub at it, croaking out a confused; “Ow.”

“Oh jeez Richie I’m so sorry!” The asthmatic’s face appeared in the center of his swirling vision, his honey brown eyes which were full of happiness only minutes ago had concern shining in them. It would have almost been cute, if this hadn’t been the boy that just knocked him down into the center of the road. “I-I just got startled I didn’t mean to… Oh golly are you _bleeding_?”

Eddie reached a hand around to delicately feel at the spot on the back of Richie’s head that he was currently prodding at.

The teen relaxed as he brought his hand back and saw there wasn’t any blood on it. “Good. It’s just a bump.”

“Jussa bump…?” Richie slurred out, tilting his head back and squinting his eyes to get a better look at the boy in front of him. “Why dontchu knock _yuur_ head on the ground ‘n see how it feels.”

Eddie looked like he was about to cry, and really, that would be a disaster. If there was anything worse than an injured Richie Tozier sat in the middle of the street on Halloween night, it was a crying and delirious Eddie Kaspbrak hovering right over him. “I-I didn’t want to hurt you I would never purposefully hurt…” He fumbled around in his pocket, and yanked out his inhaler.

“Blasting off in three… two…” Richie croaked out just as Eddie took a few puffs from his aspirator. The black dots in his vision were starting to disappear and he sat up straight - his back no longer on the peddle of his bike and his face directly in front of Eddie’s. “Can I get a hit off that señor?”

Eddie looked awful, his shoulders were shaking and his breath was wheezing and if Richie hadn’t known Eddie since they were in preschool he wouldn’t have noticed the tip of his nose turning red, indicating the tears he was definitely about to spill. “Hey c’mon Eddie, it’s okay.” Richie picked his glasses, with one lense still visibly cracked, up off of the ground and placed them on the bridge of his nose. “I’m still kicking. Despite your greatest attempts.”

“Richie, you probably have a concussion.” The asthmatic’s voice cracked on the word concussion.

“I’ll consider it payback for all those times I threw you in the Kenduskeag when we were kids.” Richie slowly, started to stand - with the help of Eddie who quickly offered a hand. His vision tunneled as soon as he stood up, and a pair of arms wrapped around his waist to stop him from toppling back to ground.

“Your glasses are cracked.” Eddie noted, when Richie’s vision cleared. He reached a thin (and cold) hand up to pull the specs off of Richie’s nose, and dug his hand around in his pocket before pulling out an older, more outdated pair that he used to wear when he was fifteen. The prescription was also old, but it was much better than the spiderweb crack that covered the lenses of his newer glasses.

Richie didn’t question it, that’s just how Eddie was. When Ben couldn’t find the pencil he had tucked away in his notebook, Eddie had one that was sharper. When Beverly snapped the rubberband she used in her hair, Eddie had a spare one with more elasticity.

“You know Spaghetti,” The bespectacled teen pulled himself out of Eddie’s grip to pick up his bicycle off of the ground. “You could have just _told_ me you don’t like the kisses.”

“It’s not…” Eddie looked around then, and his eyes were nervous as he glanced across the neighborhood they stood in the middle of. “Aren’t you afraid of what people would say? If they saw you doing that?”

“No.” Richie spoke, perhaps too quickly. “What’s weird about kissing your cheek? You’re Eddie.”

The teen became quiet again after that, and they started walking - this time much slower than before, and with Eddie’s presence by his side much more demanding, as if he was afraid Richie might pass out. The sounds of teenagers yelling and screaming ecstatically could be heard echoing throughout the neighborhood, the Monster Mash was over and as expected after every Halloween dance - the high schoolers were out and about, ready to trash the neighborhood.

They were on Jackson when Eddie said, “You don’t have to stop kissing my cheeks or calling me nicknames Richie, I know that’s just who you are and… and after everything you said to me tonight I would hate it if you didn’t feel comfortable around me anymore.”

Richie stopped again, he glanced over at Eddie, who was doing his best to look unaffected by the injured boy’s intense stare. “You think _way_ too much Eds.”

The brunet, offended, looked up at Richie with narrowed eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll always be comfortable around you.” The teen glanced both ways down the street to make sure there were no cars coming, before he planted a gentle kiss on Eddie’s forehead. He let his bike lean against his hip as he started to peel off his letterman jacket, he wore nothing but a thin white t shirt underneath it. “You’ve been shivering like a leaf ever since we left the Barrens, here.” He held the jacket outwards towards Eddie, who stared between the piece of clothing and Richie with hesitation on his face.

“You’re going to freeze.”

The bespectacled teen shrugged, he waved the jacket in front of Eddie’s face. “This werewolf hair is burning me up. Feels like a fucking oven in this thing, just take it.” At the uncertainty still in Eddie’s eyes, Richie added, “Do it or I’ll tell your mom you’re trying to catch hypothermia.”

Richie wouldn’t do that, but Eddie scowled anyways and snatched the jacket from his hands - shoving his arms into it and cuddling up into the warmth extremely fast for someone who was acting like he didn’t want it. “Asshole.” He grumbled, and then sniffed the collar. “Jiminy Cricket - this smells like smoke.”

“The cancer sticks have me by the neck, Eds.” Richie nodded grimly. “Winston tastes good, you know, like a cigarette _should.”_

“You say that as if you still have functioning taste buds.”

“He swings!” Richie rears his hands back as if he was holding a bat between his hands, and flings it in the way he’s seen Eddie and Stan do so many times. He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth to mock the noise of a baseball clonking against the imaginary bat. “ _And he scores!_ Eddie Spaghetti gets off a good one.”

Seeing Eddie grinning under the moon’s light, wearing his jacket and looking loopy from the pixy stix induced sugar rush - Richie once again wondered why the Losers’ hate Halloween so much. It wasn’t until they turned the corner from Jackson onto Witcham, that Richie glanced at the closest storm drain. He didn’t remember - not _really,_ but the cold wash of dread in his chest was explanation enough. Perhaps it was his imagination, or the atmosphere of Halloween but it almost sounded like he could hear the echo of a monster just like him - howling from the storm’s drain.

“ _There are monsters lurking around in there_.” He heard himself say. “ _Seen ‘em myself_.”

+

Winter started in late November of 1964 in Derry, Maine. The first snowfall happened every year, without fail, a few days before Thanksgiving. The snowstorms wouldn’t come until January - but every now and then in the days between Thanksgiving and New Years there would be a flurry of snowflakes that covered the ground and the Kenduskeag in a thin layer of ice. This presented an issue for the lucky seven. When the Kenduskeag stream froze over, the smaller portion of the stream that lead into the Barrens froze along with it. And because the ground was permanently muddy, the ice spread across the drier grounds of the Barrens and completely encased their clubhouse in a blanket of frozen snow.

Perhaps if the ground wasn’t so slick, the group could have walked towards the frozen clubhouse and broke the iced over ground with their boot covered heels.

It was a mistake Richie tried to make several years before, the moment he stepped away from the dry elevated ground surrounding the Barrens he fell right on his ass and slid straight into the frozen Kenduskeag. After getting mouth to mouth from Mike Hanlon and several days at the hospital with acute hypothermia - Richie and the Losers’ decided there would be no more walking across the frozen Barrens.

Every year they decided on staying a safe distance away from the frozen Canal to throw rocks at the iced out ground and hopefully break it apart - so if they were lucky enough, they could walk into the Barrens with ease.

It never really worked - if they so much as cracked the ice, the very next day it would snow again and cover the Barrens in a fresh wave of flakes. Once again hiding the dead grass and fallen brown leaves under a white sheet.

“I don’t understand why we don’t just go to the Aladdin.” Stan complained from his spot seated atop a tree root, he had a huge coat that seemed to envelop his lithe frame and yet his lower lip still trembled minutely every time a gust of wind fluttered through the trees. Ben Hanscom sat next to him, looking far more comfortable in the freezing weather with a huge library book spread across his lap.

Richie, with several rocks cradled to his chest, turned and looked at Stan with a lopsided grin. “Even if we had more than a couple dimes and a piece of lint to our names - what’s the Aladdin have that the Barrens don’t have?”

“Central heating, movies, popcorn, places to sit, _central heating._ ” Stan wrapped his arms around his chest tighter, a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “This is pointless - the ice is never going to break.”

“It’s not _that_ b-buh-bad out here.” Bill Denbrough shrugged, mid rock toss. His bright blue eyes followed the rock’s movements as it bounced against the blanket of ice without making a dent, and skittered all the way towards one of the gaping sewer pipes that was also frozen around the edges. “Besides - you c-can still b-buh-birdwatch, right?”

“The birds have migrated.” The brunet retorted through chattering teeth.

“Not all of ‘em.” Richie cast a sly look at Beverly Marsh, who impetuously threw a rock at his head of messy brown hair.

“The finches are still out.” Mike inquired from his spot atop the driest patch of grass, Eddie Kaspbrak was leaning against Mike’s side wearing a ski jacket that seemed unnecessary for the month of November.

“Yeah.” Stan groused. “But who _hasn’t_ seen a finch?”

Another surge of chilly air rattled through the trees and raked across the group of seven with a frigid vengeance. Richie, only wearing a windbreaker over a tee shirt shuddered particularly hard at the sudden drop in temperature. The rocks he cradled thumped against the ground as he let them fall from his slender arms to wrap them around his own body. Stan glared at him, his jaw shaking and his nose red. “A-Ah c’mon Stan the Man.” Richie stuttered out through his own trembling lips. “It’s n-not _that_ cold.”

As he spoke, a stray snowflake drifted between the trees and landed in a freezing puddle of cold on the tip of his pink nose. Eddie sat up with a palm outstretched in front of him - another snowflake landed on his impeccable white glove. He looked from his, now wet, glove to Richie Tozier with a frown.

Nervously, Richie chuckled. “S-Suh-Snow check?”

Kansas street had a thin layer of frost over the pavement as the group of seven slowly trudged in their winter boots past the Standpipe and towards the city center. During Derry’s wintry months the Losers opted towards ditching their bicycles, most of which didn’t have snow tires. None of them ever felt comfortable gliding across the iced out street after Richie’s little stumble into the Kenduskeag. The apprehension of falling from their bikes and sliding into a storm drain was still present - although, there wasn’t a lot of logic behind that specific fear. No eighteen year old would _accidentally_ slip into a storm drain.

Richie, with boots that sloshed through the slushy textured mud puddles in the road, threw an arm around Bill’s broader shoulders. “What say you Billy? We headed to your house?”

The redhead grinned at Richie, playfully elbowing his ribs and dislodging the arm the taller teen had wrapped around him. He took a glance backwards towards the other Losers’ - all of them looking fairly miserable in the constant snowfall. “M-Muh-My house is too far to w-walk to while it’s still snowing. The A-Ah-Aladdin is closer.”

“Well Big Bill,” Richie adjusted the clunky glasses he wore on the bridge of his nose. “I don’t suppose you have any dough on you, after ol’ Spaghetti Head’s birthday.”

Bill shook his head grimly. None of the Losers’ had any spare cash during the holiday season. Not after they spent their summer job money on school supplies, and spent their monthly allowances on the back to back birthdays and the holidays landing right between them. Eddie, who’s birthday was only a week before Thanksgiving, was to blame for _this_ bout of bankruptcy. “Hey Eds!” Richie called, turning around with a crooked grin. The light brown head of hair shot up, displaying the frown that was certainly directed at the nickname usage. “Your house is only a block or two away, ain’t that right? How would Mrs. K feel about us popping in?”

The question, although rhetorical, was immediately answered with a snappy; “She wouldn’t feel great about it, Rich.”

Solemnly - Richie nodded, he walked backwards through the slush so he could see Eddie’s agitated face. “Makes sense. She likes it better when I stop by after you’re asleep.”

“Hey Richie?”

“ _Mhm?_ ”

“Talk less.”

The ‘ _No can do, mi amor’_ was on Richie’s tongue when Ben interrupted by clearing his throat. The blond was holding up his book - _East of Eden_ \- and waved it as an exhibit. “Why don’t we stop by the library?” He suggested, and his tone was very open to the possibility of rejection. Even after all these years, Ben was still very conscious of voicing his own opinions. “It’s closer than the Aladdin, anyways.”

“I’m in.” Mike spoke as he tightened his floral print scarf around his neck. “I’m so cold - I think I would hop into Bowers’ car if he told me it was heated.”

Beverly snorted - her knuckles were flushed pink from her fingers being wrapped around Stan’s arm for stability and her long red hair cascaded in waves down her shoulders. Richie was extremely envious of the warmth all of those ringlets must have been providing. He was equally envious of Stan, who looked happy as a lark sharing that warmth.

“You think that’s impressive, Hanlon?” Richie snapped his fingers, with a wily glint in his blue eyes. “I’m so cold I would sit on Mrs. Kaspbrak’s - _fuck!”_ Cutting his sentence in half, was a chunky snowball almost entirely made out of wet dirt lobbed straight into his face - and by proxy, his mouth which was still wide open. He spluttered in disgust, and wiped his tongue with the sleeve of his windbreaker to get the incredibly unpleasant taste out of his mouth. Richie looked up through muck covered glasses to see a very blurry Eddie Kaspbrak with another sloppy looking snowball in his, now stained, white gloved hands.

“ _Oops_ , did I get mud on your glasses?” Eddie asked, in a voice way too high pitched to be innocent. “ _My mistake_ \- I was aiming for your big fat trashmouth.”

Richie gurgled out a surprised giggle, his hands (which were bare, unlike Eddie’s) scooped up a slush weapon of his own. “Eds baby, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” He slowly stepped forward, grinning impishly when Eddie took a startled step backwards. The shorter teen’s eyes glanced back and forth between Richie’s dirty face and the snowball gradually melting against his palm. “I’m the _king_ of snowball fights.”

“Self proclaimed king.” Stan grumbled from off to the side.

When Richie made the mistake of glancing away from Eddie to glare at Stan, the asthmatic threw the remaining snowball he held in his ruined glove and smacked Richie directly in the center of his chest. His windbreaker, which was a nice red color, now had a huge stain that dripped all the way down from his chest to his flat stomach. The freezing cold slap startled a gasp out of Richie - and Eddie winced in his momentary bout of sympathy. That sympathy faded fairly quickly when he saw a snowball hurtling towards his face. Panicked, he tried to back away from the oncoming assault - only to come to a complete halt as his ankles teetered on the edge of the road’s hard shoulder.

As the snowball wetly landed on his abdomen, his feet slipped out from under him. Richie, who started running towards Eddie the second he realized what was about to happen was able to grab onto one of the brunet’s pinwheeling wrists. It didn’t do a lot of good, as both of the Losers stumbled from the road down the sludge covered hill that led into the forest surrounding the Canal.

For all it’s worth, as they rolled down the hill and slipped through snow and passed the trees - Richie had a plan. It wasn’t a _great_ plan, but the idea was to throw Eddie against a tree if they both managed to slide all the way through the trees and into the Canal. He wouldn’t call it a self sacrifice, as much as ‘ _this is something I’ve experienced before and if either one of us will live through it - it will be me._ ’ Alongside that, Richie was positive Mrs. Kaspbrak would lock Eddie in his room for the rest of his life if he caught hypothermia because the Tozier boy pushed him into the frozen Canal. Luckily for both of them, they slammed into a particularly large oak tree which halted their descent down the wooded slope.

“ _Ungh_.” Richie groaned - his back ached from the tumble and the snow covered ground wasn’t doing much to soothe the pain in his spine. Eddie was sprawled out on top of him, with his arms wrapped uncomfortably tight around Richie’s shoulders. The hypochondriac, who previously had his head buried in Richie’s collarbone - looked up at him with wide eyes.

Richie was a little unsettled by the excitement that shined in his brown irises.

“ _Jeezum crow_.” Eddie whispered out, and Richie duly noted that his breath still smelled like mint. He laughed, sounding high on happiness. “That was fucking incredible.”

“Glad that tickled _your_ fancy.” Richie grumbled out in a very lazy British accent. He groaned again, and moved one of his hands from it’s spot clutching Eddie’s waist to the back of his head - just his luck, right when the last bump heals he gets another one. Eddie sat up, his hips still straddled Richie’s and if the bespectacled teen wasn’t so shaken up he would have half a mind to feel flustered.

“Are you hurt?” The asthmatic asked, and the thrill seeking high was replaced with a look of concern. Richie wasn’t sure which he preferred.

Eddie leaned over after peeling a single glove off, delicately running his fingers through Richie’s hair to check for open wounds or bumps the same way he did when he knocked Richie into his bike. This time, he didn’t look nearly as anxious about their proximity - perhaps because there was no way anyone else was around. “Probably.” His voice sounded breathy, and he internally cursed himself for sounding so flustered because of _Eddie Kaspbrak_. “Feels better when you’re touching me like that, Eddie my love.”

Instead of jumping away, like Richie predicted he would - Eddie’s dark eyes slowly drifted from his own hand, which still resided in Richie’s brunet curls, to the bright blue eyes hidden behind coke bottle lenses.

Looking up at Eddie’s thin face, his pointed nose and his huge eyes - Richie was reminded of the first girl he kissed, Nancy Liu. A girl who’s existence in Derry was finite, but who laid an inexperienced kiss onto Richie’s buck toothed mouth during their shared ninth grade gym class. He remembered feeling giddy, his heart pounded heavily in his chest for the rest of the day and every time he met eyes with Nancy he felt bashful in a way that Richie Tozier wasn’t accustomed to.

He felt a little like that now. The elation of his first kiss with Nancy felt so identical to the eagerness of gazing at one of his best friends.

It at least explained why he was wondering if Eddie would be as inexperienced at kissing as Nancy was, to which the obvious answer was; _probably so._ Richie almost wanted to test his theory, _almost_. His palpable fear overrode his curiosity. “ _Eddie!”_  A voice yelled through the trees, and the two teens still sprawled against the oak startled. The voice, undeniably belonged to Beverly Marsh. “ _Richie Tozier!_ If you and Eddie have killed one another so help me _God_ , I will kill _myself_ just to kick your ghostly asses!”

“ _We’re fine Bev!”_  Eddie called - his bare hand moved from Richie’s hair to lay flat on the top of his chest to keep his balance as he sat up once again. Richie felt his heartbeat fluttering under Eddie’s hand, and he quickly scooped up the teen’s freezing palm into his hand and entwined their fingers together.

The brunet flinched when he felt Richie grab his hand, and he looked down with wide eyes at his best friend - who merely grinned cheekily to hide his own anxiety. “Race you to the top?”

“That’s your worst idea yet, Trashmouth.”

It wasn’t so much a race to the road, as it was a slow endeavor up the ice covered hill - holding hands, and stepping on tree roots and rocks that were still dry as to not fall again and actually slide all the way into the Kenduskeag. After years of living in Derry, it wasn’t nearly as difficult as Richie internally thought it would be or as Eddie outwardly assumed it would be.

The minute they escaped the brush and the fortress of pine trees, the other Losers’ looked as if they might pass out from relief. And Richie couldn’t really blame them - it’s too easy to get hurt in Derry.

But they escaped the treacherous slopes leading down to the Barrens with only a few bruises to show for it.

 _And boy, did they show it._  The minute the lucky seven walked (or rather, hobbled) into the library, the beautifully heated Derry library, the kind old librarian who always let Ben turn in his books a little later than usual - gasped at the sight of Richie and Eddie. The woman, Mrs. Cooper, immediately grabbed the two boys by their jacket sleeves and dragged them into her own tiny bathroom in the back - nagging the entire way there about, “Third group of rowdy teenagers _this week_ who can’t keep their hands out of the snow, intent on trying to dirty up _my_ library.”

With a bar of soap tossed at their faces and the added instruction to clean themselves to their best capabilities - the bathroom door slammed shut behind Mrs. Cooper.

“Didn’t think ol’ Mrs. C would hound us like that.” Richie grumbled, the bar of soap she threw him was cradled between his dirty scratched up palms. Under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom - Richie could understand why she freaked out after seeing them. Eddie had dirt streaking across his face and his hair looked absolutely filthy, with leaves and bark caught in the light strands. Richie knew he couldn’t have looked much better - his glasses were stained and his red jacket was ripped down his left sleeve. He couldn’t imagine what his rat’s nest of a hairdo looked like, he was incredibly thankful there wasn’t a bathroom mirror hanging over the sink.

“My mom will kill me if I come home looking like…” Eddie trailed off as he ran a hand through his hair, pieces of bark clattered onto the tile as they fell from his head. “Help me get all of this shit out of my hair, Rich.”

“You got it, boss.” Richie saluted, his mobster voice wasn’t nearly as practiced as his other voices - but a smile tugged at Eddie’s lips regardless.

Being able to see the top of Eddie’s head made picking the gunk out of it all the more simple, but feeling the asthmatic’s eyes following his every movement had Richie feeling strangely unnerved. He didn’t dare to look down and meet the teen’s gaze. Instead, he cleared his throat and made small talk in the way he’s seen his parents do with his dad’s coworkers whenever they ran into each other at the local Freese’s supermarket. “So Eds, whatcha doing for Thanksgiving?”

From his peripheral, Richie could see Eddie’s mouth turn down at the corners. “My aunts are visiting.”

“And these are the aunts we don’t like?” Richie asked, even though he already knew the answer. Eddie nodded - slowly, as not to disturb Richie’s progress in stripping the leaves from his locks. “You can’t really blame ‘em for wanting to pinch your cheeks Spaghetti Man.” To really sell his point, he gently pulled at Eddie’s cheek and whispered, “ _Cutest cheeks in Derry._ ”

Eddie halfheartedly swatted at his hand.

“They don’t do a lot of cheek pinching anymore. _Most_ people grew out of that when I hit puberty.” He gave Richie a pointed look. “They still smother me though - _differently_. I almost wish they still pinched my cheeks instead of asking me questions about when I’m going to bring home a pretty girl.” He was silent for a moment, his nose wrinkled distastefully. “The worst part is, I know they’re asking because they’re concerned that I don’t _want_ to date. ‘ _Your mom can’t be the only woman in your life, Eddie Bear_.’” He shivered. “As if I _want_ her to be.”

Richie didn’t quite know how to respond. His parents, as concerned as they could get for him, never worried about his dating life. They seemed much happier with his abstinence - assuming that he didn’t date because he didn’t want to accidentally get his girlfriend pregnant. He didn’t have the heart to tell them that the girls he went to school with didn’t _like_ Bucky Beaver like that.

“So you don’t want to date, big fuckin’ deal.” He shrugged, Eddie looked a bit startled by his vulgarity.

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to date.” Richie’s ministrations halted at that, and Eddie coughed - to cover up a chuckle. “I have a feeling my mom wouldn’t approve of my taste in a consort.”

The taller of the two felt his face warm, he avoided Eddie’s eyes and continued plucking at his scalp. “Oh yeah? You got a thing for foxy minxes like Beverly Marsh?”

“Not even close.” Eddie didn’t elaborate after that, and Richie felt like his red cheeks would become extremely obvious if he kept asking. The asthmatic sighed after a few seconds. “I guess I’m telling you all of this because… you know how to piss adults off better than anyone I know.” Richie supposed he shouldn’t have felt a surge of pride over that. “What would you do… if you were me?”

And _that_ , was a loaded question. Richie knew what _Richie Tozier_ would do, and chances are - it was the easiest thing but also the _wrong_ thing. What Eddie Kaspbrak should do, that was an entirely different box to open.

“You’re asking me, to help you rebel against your own mother?” Richie didn’t add the ‘ _and_ _prove to both your aunts and yourself that you aren’t the Mama’s boy everyone thinks you are.’_  Eddie nodded, regardless. “Come over to my house for Thanksgiving.” And judging by the thrilled twinkle that shined in Eddie’s honey eyes, he liked the idea. “Imagine Mrs. K’s face when she realizes her son snuck out of the window on her favorite holiday to eat with Richie Tozier - king of both the snowball fight _and_ pissing off Derry’s grown folk.”

“She’ll lose her head.” Eddie sounded practically giddy, he was minutes away from bouncing up and down on his ankles.

“Damn straight.” Richie picked the last piece of bark from his best friend’s hair, and slapped his shoulder. “And I can show you my famous bowl of cranberry sauce.”

Eddie giggled, and it was a rare sight these days - Richie let himself savor it. “ _Richie_ , cranberry sauce is _premade._ ”

“All the more reason you should trust me when I tell you it’s delicious.”

They were both scrubbing their hands and faces over the tiny sink, when Eddie shut the faucet off mid rinse and looked over at Richie’s soap covered face with a small and guarded smile. “Thanks Rich.” He said, and his voice was very frail. “Sometimes I… I really think I’m going crazy. I’m eighteen now. I _should_ have a girlfriend and… and I shouldn’t care about trying to impress my own _mom_ . That’s weird… _isn’t it?_ ”

Richie leaned his elbows against the sink, it creaked threateningly under the entirety of his weight. “I guess. I don’t have a girlfriend, and… well, I think everyone wants to impress their folks. Even if they’re terrible to you. So maybe we’re both weird.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Hey, I’m all for this Spaghetti rebellion thing though. Makes me feel all tingly inside that you’re including me in your journey of self discovery.”

Eddie snickered, and flicked some of the water dripping from his fingertips at Richie. “Beep beep, asshole.”

The hypochondriac turned the faucet back on, and Richie watched him splash water all over his face - which was now nearly spotless. As much as he liked to talk out of his ass, he couldn’t imagine having a mom like Mrs. K - but he did know what it felt like to have everyone around you expecting you to turn into something or someone that you aren’t, something that _terrified_ him. He and Eddie had always been very different from one another, _opposite_ even. Richie always assumed that if it weren’t for the Losers’ club, Eddie would have never even gave him the time of day for a friendship.

Perhaps it depended on how you looked at it. Because in that moment, Richie thought they were awfully similar. A strange sort of yin and yang, who’s backstories and personalities couldn’t be more different - and yet they ultimately feared the same thing.

_Themselves._

“ _God_ Richie.” Eddie huffed, he was shaking the water off of his hands and staring at Richie’s fingers distastefully. “ _How_ are you so bad at washing your own hands? Your fingernails are _filthy_.”

  
He let Eddie grab his hands, and he watched dutifully as the smaller teen washed the gunk from his fingernails - ranting the entire time about how gross it is that Richie just _leaves_ dirt under his nails. Richie felt himself smiling as he watched Eddie grumble and complain about the disgusting shit his own best friend puts up with. And once again, he wondered how anyone in their right mind would see a guy like Eddie Kaspbrak and expect him to grow up and be anything but beautiful and independent. Eddie Kaspbrak wasn’t a Mama’s boy, and he certainly wasn’t going to grow up and be Norman Bates.


	2. Chapter 2

December came with the promise of colder weather, and slicker roads. It also came with the promise of the holiday season - and although the Losers’ weren’t privy to celebrating as a group, they did enjoy the added holiday cheer in the air. Happiness didn’t come easy in Derry, but to those who celebrated Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa or to the people who didn’t celebrate anything at all - there was something especially cheerful in the air. Nine days after Thanksgiving, Richie Tozier found himself in his living room hanging an array of Christmas decorations with his parents. Maggie Tozier, just like every other Derry citizen seemed to glow as she delicately wrapped the bright white lights around the huge tree that towered over the deep maroon colored and mahogany furniture.

His mother always had a kind attitude, never one to speak ill of people and the type of person whose smile lines were much deeper than the crease between her eyebrows.

However - Derry tended to make even the brightest of people seem more dreary, and during December - it seemed to liven everyone up again. Especially Wentworth Tozier, who tended to be weary and closed off so often, reverted back to his playful and fun loving self when the holiday season approached.

The Losers’ didn’t spend nearly as much time with one another during December, rather - they relished the time they had with the slightly brighter version of their parents before the snow storms of January took them away for another year.

“Richie dear.” Maggie spoke from her position standing on one of the lower rungs of a small step ladder, atop the ladder was a bucket full of red and gold ornaments - and his mother had her hand extended outwards towards where Richie sat on the carpeted ground fiddling with tinsel. “Would you mind passing me the Angel Gabriel?”

Richie snagged the old, slightly tattered tree topper from off of the coffee table Wentworth had his feet propped on. He flipped the angel around with a grin. “You mean ol’ Gabe? He’s looking a little rough ‘round the edges Ma.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, and extended her hand more demandingly. He placed the angel into her palm, and went back to untangling the golden tinsel that was spread across the carpet. On the television, a brand new Christmas special about Rudolph the Red nosed reindeer was playing at a very low volume. Richie always appreciated the story of the misfit reindeer, one who felt out of place because of his appearance and unwanted until he masked what made him _himself._

He was sure all of the Losers’ related to a character like Rudolph, on some level.

The lucky seven, well, they were like that island of misfit toys. Eddie though, he would be that cute little elf who wanted to be a dentist instead of a toy making elf like Santa wanted. Imagining Eddie dressed as the misfit elf had Richie grinning to himself, and imagining Sonia Kaspbrak as Santa Claus was equally hilarious.

Richie sucked on his teeth contemplatively, before he glanced up at his dad - who had a newspaper covering his bespectacled eyes and receding hairline.

“Hey Went.” He started, and the newspaper shifted lower so Richie could see his father’s displeased face, likely at the usage of his first name. But _hey,_  Richie was an adult now. “You know Sonia Kaspbrak, dontcha?”

The older man gruffed, closing the newspaper entirely and settling a bemused look on Richie. “Unfortunately. Comes yelling at me every year after Halloween about her son getting cavities.” Wentworth pointedly glared at Richie, and the teen had the gumption to at least - _look_ guilty. “Why do you ask, son?”

Richie shrugged, gives an innocent little hum. “No reason. Just wondered… what you thought of her.”

“I have _plenty_ of thoughts about that woman.” Wentworth grumbled, he flipped his newspaper back open and let his eyes scan across the pages without any real rhyme or reason. “Gotta say… they aren’t good ones, kid.”

“ _Wentworth_.” Maggie scolded, she turned her head of short brunette curls around with a warning look in her large brown eyes. “Watch what you say about Sonia, we just let her son have Thanksgiving dinner with us.”

Richie’s dad waved his hand dismissively, agitation on his face. “Ah don’t get bent out of shape, Maggie. I wouldn’t say anything bad about Edward - he’s a real sweet kid.” He shifted uncomfortably where he was sitting, his blue eyes stayed trained on the newspaper in front of him rather than looking at his son, who was watching him intently. “Too sweet to have a mother like that, I tell ya.”

It surprised Richie, that his parents _knew_ that Sonia Kaspbrak wasn’t a good person. He couldn’t explain _why_ it surprised him, his parents were smart after all - he was _their_ son. But something kept telling him that his parents’ were naïve to the threats that lurked in Derry, and he always just assumed that meant they were also naïve to the hatred that lurked within Sonia Kaspbrak. He blinked at his father, who looked a bit guilty under Richie’s surprised gaze. A part of Richie felt desperate, desperate to know just _how much_ his parents’ knew about him and his friends.

Did they know about Alvin Marsh? Had they too seen the fingerprint shaped bruises on Beverly’s wrists when she spent the day at Richie’s?

Did they know about how he felt when he looked at Eddie Kaspbrak? The strange mixture of admiration and affection that felt so different and foreign than most anything he ever felt before. Nagging, loudly in his head was the question; did they know… what _really_ happened to Georgie Denbrough?

He hoped not.

The doorbell rang before Richie’s mouth could catch up with his brain, and Maggie gave him a pleading look from her position stretching towards the top of the tree with an ornament hook clenched between her teeth. “Honey, can you get that?”

“I got yer back Maw.” Richie huffed out in a deep Southern accent, he got a good view of her shaking her head good naturedly before he skipped around the corridor towards the front door. He swung the heavy door open and was met with the wind bitten faces of Mike Hanlon and Bill Denbrough, both looking mighty comfortable in their bundles of heavy coats.

Bill, with his red hair tucked into a fur cap, smiled widely at Richie. “W-Wanna go f-f-fuck around at the trainyards, R-Ruh-Richie?”

“I’m bringing Candy Land.” Mike whispered conspiratorially, he was grinning from ear to ear and holding up the candy themed board game. Richie imagined his dad would have a heart attack if he saw all of the cavity possibilities on the board’s cover.

Richie glanced around the corner at his parents, who were doing a terrible job of pretending to not listen to what he was saying. He smiled, and yanked his coat (a royal blue thing that his mom bought after she saw what a mess he made of the red one) off of the hanger and shoved his arms through the sleeves. “ _Hey Mom_ ! I’m going out! Don’t put the tinsel up until I get back!” He called as he hurriedly slipped his snow boots on, Bill was staring at him in amusement and he saw the redhead mouth, “ _T-Tuh-Tinsel?”_

“Don’t go rolling around in the snow again, Richie.” His mother spoke airily. “If I have to buy you another jacket, tinsel will be the _last_ of your concerns.”

“I love you too mom!”

Richie reckoned that if you calculated how much time he spent either walking or biking through Derry in his entire lifetime, it would be such a significantly large amount that you would wonder why someone who gets out as much as he does is still as skinny as a rail. That’s at least, where his mind was as he kicked his way through the ankle deep snow on the side of the road.

Bill quickly, as quickly as Bill could with his stutter, explained what the other Losers’ were up to. Ben and Bev were studying together at Ben’s house, and judging by the smirk on Mike’s face - they weren’t doing as much staring into their textbooks as they were staring into each other’s eyes. It was also, they seventh day of Hanukkah - and Bill and Mike decided together that they wouldn’t bother calling Stan Uris, as to not disturb him or his family from quality holiday time. “So, what about Eds?” Richie asked, and the closer they walked to the trainyards, the closer they got to approaching Eddie’s house. “Is he up for good chucks?”

The redhead shrugged. “His m-muh-mom picked up when w-we called. Said h-he’s grounded. A-Also said we sh-shouldn’t be hanging around the tr-truh-trainyards in this weather ah-anyways.”

Richie couldn’t say he was surprised by that. Aside from seeing each other at school, their interactions had been minute after Eddie came over to his house for Thanksgiving. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that it was because of his cranberry sauce that Eddie had been avoiding both him and the other Losers. This reaction from Sonia had been expected from both of them, it didn’t make Richie feel any less guilty when he stopped by the Barrens after school and Eddie was the only one of his friends not there.

The thing is, Sonia Kaspbrak grounding Eddie was an almost regular occurence. As great as Eddie was at lying and sneaking around - some things were bound to be discovered. Whether it be the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to Eddie, or a hitchhiker on the leg of his trousers; Sonia was exceptionally good at spotting the slightest difference in her son.

Therefore the Losers’ became well versed in helping Eddie escape his parental prison.

Over the years - Richie had jumped, crawled and straight up launched himself into Eddie’s bedroom window more times than he can count. Being the only Loser who was brave ( _dumb_ ) enough to climb the frail old tree five feet away from Eddie’s window, he had pretty much mastered the art of shimmying up the tree and climbing onto the elongated windowsill with the hopes that the asthmatic would let him into his house quickly. This time, shouldn’t have been any different.

Richie had his snow boots balanced on the extremely slick and extremely dangerous branch of a tree, when he noticed the deadbolt lock that kept Eddie’s window shut from the outside. He had one hand wrapped around a higher branch as he leaned forward and delicately knocked on the window. It didn’t take more than six seconds for Eddie’s, extremely bored, face to appear behind the glass. Wordlessly, he held up a sheet of paper and pressed it against the glass. In the hypochondriac’s smooth scrawl, the piece of paper read; “ _Locked in.”_

“I can see that.” Richie mumbled, troubled. He glanced down towards Bill and Mike - who were standing a few feet away, out of sight from the window below Richie where Sonia Kaspbrak resided on her armchair.

Several Christmases ago, when he turned thirteen years old - his dad sat him down after he opened all of his gifts, and handed him an unwrapped and well used pocket knife with _Tozier_ engraved on the metal. When thirteen year old Richie Tozier saw the knife, his heart leapt with fear that he tried desperately not to show his father. “ _My old man gave me this when I was your age._ ” Wentworth said, and he looked down at the knife with the same contemplative expression he often got when talking to Richie. “ _Said that every young man should have a weapon like this one… can’t say that I agreed with him. But… I do agree with tradition.”_

Never once had Richie used that knife. He kept it safe in his pocket - alongside his cigarettes, his lighter and his red yo-yo. But no, he didn’t use it. He could remember Henry Bowers pulling out a knife just like it, holding it up near his face so the metal glinted across his pasty skin. He can remember seeing his friends’ faces, unmasked in their horror at the terror of the other child.

He never wanted to see his friends looking at him like that, so he never pulled out the damn thing around them.

As he stared down at the lock that kept him from Eddie Kaspbrak, he decided that his own fears weren’t as important as Eddie’s. It was him who got Eddie in this mess, _wasn’t it_?

That mindset didn’t seem to stop his heart from thundering as he straddled the hefty branch he was previously standing on, and pulling out his pocket knife with one hand already wrapped around the lock that he was determined on picking. He didn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes widened, or the way he backed up a step at the sight of the knife. He desperately tried not to succumb to the warmth behind his eyes and the ache in his throat.

He knew Eddie wasn’t afraid of him. _Not Eddie._

Richie managed to jimmy the lock open fairly effortlessly, and instantly pocketed it and the switchblade when he climbed from the tree branch onto the windowsill. From there - the routine he and Eddie had acquired over the years was the same. Eddie slid the window open, with an added glare in Richie’s direction and Richie slinked into his bedroom without clunking his head or making enough noise to alert Mrs. K to his presence. There had been one too many close calls over the years for either teen to make _that_ mistake again.

Eddie had a strange look on his face when Richie got his bearings and was standing on steady feet once again. He had a strange mix of awe and apprehension in his widened hazel eyes - it was the kind of look that Eddie used to get often when he and Richie first became friends, and the pocket that contained Richie’s knife felt heavier under that gaze.

“Since when do you carry a _knife_ around?” Eddie asked, his voice a few octaves higher than usual. The brunet cringed and cleared his throat quietly, taking a worried glance towards his bedroom door.

“Since when does Mrs. K _lock you in your room_?” Richie countered despite the worry clawing it’s way up his chest. He made sure to keep his voice down though - he was positive Sonia would call the cops on him for breaking and entering if she found out he was up here with the deadbolt that was on Eddie’s window in his pocket. And truthfully, he didn’t want to give Officer Nell _another_ reason to phone his parents.

Eddie, momentarily distracted from his own question, winced. “She just put the lock on last night.” He explained, and his frail face started to redden. “She was furious about Thanksgiving but yesterday… she found your um… jacket.”

It took a moment for everything to click, but at Eddie’s humiliated face, Richie remembered the letterman with his name boldly written across the back. “Oh.” He whispered, and _yeah_ , perhaps giving Eddie that jacket wasn’t his greatest idea, in retrospect. “Guess you couldn’t convince her that I joined the football team and accidentally left it over here on my way to practice, huh?”

The asthmatic cracked a smile, and shook his head sadly. “No. Not even my mom would believe _you_ joined the football team, plus… you left a pixy stix wrapper in the left pocket.”

“Figures.” Richie grumbled. He was surprised Eddie wasn’t angry at him, it didn’t take a lot for the teen to lose his head with Richie - and he felt it was a fair assumption when he figured Eddie would be especially angry after his Mother found out he lied to her about going out on Halloween night, and to spend time with Richie Tozier no doubt. “You’re taking this pretty well.” He scratched the back of his neck, slick from the exertion it took to climb into the window. “I mean… I pretty much forced that jacket on you.”

Eddie shrugged, and he had an excited twinkle in his honey eyes. The same one he had when Richie broke him out of his room on Thanksgiving day. “Do you want me to get mad at you for keeping me warm?”

Richie felt his face heat up, hearing it put that way. “No?”

He smiled, and something about the hypochondriac felt _different_. Maybe the blatant rule breaking was good for him, it was making him carefree - unlike the version of him that Mrs. Kaspbrak programmed into being anxious… _scared._ It _could_ be that, but Richie knew Eddie well, and something told him that maybe the real reason is what triggered the need to break his Mom’s rules in the first place. “Besides…” Eddie added, and Richie tried not to make it obvious that he was staring at his best friend in a new light. “You’re here to break me out, aren’t you? Can’t be too mad.”

“Right.” Richie’s throat felt dry, he cleared it awkwardly and glanced backwards at the still opened window - where just outside Mike and Bill were surely freezing their asses off. “ _Right_ . We’re going to the trainyards, Mike’s bringing Candyland so…” He turned to Eddie with a wink. “Might jus’ get a wee bit cuh- _razy_ if I say so meself.”

“As crazy as that sounds like it’s going to be…” Eddie deadpanned. “I’m writing college applications.”

The word _college_ sent a jolt of shock through Richie who, as far as he was concerned, wasn’t going. He tilted his head curiously at Eddie, who looked a bit intimidated under his surprised gaze. “ _College_ , huh?”

“Jeezum crow Richie… don’t look so disgusted.” Eddie shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darted away from the bespectacled teen towards his desk - where a pile of applications that Richie hadn’t seen before were stacked. “It’s the one thing I’ve managed to hide from my Ma. Aside from…” He glanced back up at Richie, and looked away just as quickly, his face noticeably redder. “I need an excuse to get away from her. Away from _Derry_. And I know none of us have ever talked about college but you… you understand why I have to leave…”

He trailed off, but Richie didn’t have to have a desk full of college applications to know how that sentence was going to end. _You understand why I have to leave you guys_. And Richie _did_ understand. If Richie had a mom like Mrs. K, he would have hightailed it out of Derry the moment he had enough money to take a bus to the nearest city over.

“I’ll go with you.” Sometimes, Richie hated how impulsive he was. When Eddie’s honey brown eyes lit up, and he stared at Richie in the same awestruck way he always had - he didn’t hate it so much anymore.

“ _Seriously?_ Richie that’s a big commitment… I couldn’t ask that much of…”

“You didn’t ask.” Richie interrupted, and he grinned down at the asthmatic in all of his lopsided goofiness. “Besides, a little firecracker like you is sure to get into a frat and do you know what _that_ means, Eds?” Eddie frowned. “Frat parties _full_ of foxy sorority ladies.”

“All of which will turn you down.”

Richie couldn’t deny that, he just shrugged lazily. “In any case… you’ll be there. College is the pits … but spending time with Eddie Spaghetti Kaspbrak sure isn’t.”

He was expecting a punch in the arm; for the nickname, for the sorority girl comment… or just because he’s _Richie_. What he wasn’t expecting, was Eddie to fling his arms around his neck and yank him into a windpipe crushing hug. His hands floundered around Eddie’s waist before he slowly, shakily rested his palms there and returned the hug with fervor. He was sure Eddie could hear how unsteady his breathing was, how fast his heart was pounding - he only wondered if the hypochondriac knew the reason _why_ he felt that way, because Richie was at a complete loss.

“Thank you.” Eddie whispered, and his lips were brushing against Richie’s ear as he said it. His stomach clenched involuntarily - and he closed his eyes to collect himself from his own anxiety. “I’m scared to leave Derry. Which is dumb because… because I’m also excited. I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“‘S no problem Eds.” Richie tried to sound casual, but his voice was throaty. “We’ll be scared together.”

The clattering of a pebble landing on Eddie’s bedroom floor separated the two, and Richie couldn’t have been more relieved for that clear diversion made by Mike and Bill. The moment the short teen backed from his arms he felt like he was taking his first full breath of oxygen since they embraced. Eddie picked the pebble up, and tossed it back out the window with an eye roll. “Your boys are waiting on you, Rich. Better not keep them waiting any longer or they might start Candyland without you.”

Richie hummed and gently booped the tip of Eddie’s nose. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Before Richie could move away from Eddie’s grasp entirely, the shorter teen grabbed him by the sleeve of his brand new jacket and turned him around so they were facing one another. The boy looked nervous, and by proxy, that made Richie feel nervous.

“I don’t want Ma to find out you’re here yet but…” Eddie gently tugged at the pocket of Richie’s jacket, and he felt his heart skip in his chest. Maybe the way his heart was acting up was the result of palpitations - made sense with all the smoking he did. “Could you do me a favor?”

“And what’s that, Eds?”

“Leave your switchblade in my room.” Eddie’s eagerness was only met with a befuddled blue eyed stare from Richie. “The lock too. She might not know about the applications but… she knows she’s not keeping me trapped here.”

Richie understood, he really did. But after finding Eddie locked away in his room like some modern day Rapunzel - he wasn’t all that keen on helping the asthmatic find a way to get Mrs. K to do something worse than lock him up. Such as chaining him to his bed or having Richie Tozier arrested or something along those lines. Considering he was also responsible for this particular punishment and felt immeasurable guilt despite Eddie’s clear approval of his assistance in pissing off his Mother

“You’re sure that’s a good idea?” Richie app sked slowly, he pulled the lock and the switchblade from his pocket - turning them slowly in his hands. “This says _Tozier_ on it… and if your mom isn’t mad at me already…”

Eddie frowned, he glanced between the knife in Richie’s hands and his spectacle shielded eyes. “If you’re afraid of her getting mad at you we don’t have to do this, Richie.”

“It’s not really _me_ I’m worried about.”

“You should know better than to be worried about me.” Eddie retorted, airily. He gently took the knife and the lock from Richie’s palm, tossing them atop his perfectly made bedspread - sitting there like a threat. Richie felt his chest seize uncomfortably at the imagery - he wasn’t an _idiot._  He knew what _his knife_ sitting on Eddie’s bed would symbolize for Mrs. K, that terrible monstrous child Richie Tozier is destroying her son. Just like everything else he touches. He wasn’t worried about what Mrs. K thought of him, not for a second. But using Richie to anger Sonia was Eddie’s idea - and the more Richie thought about that, the more he wondered if Eddie viewed him the same way Mrs. K did.

“Golly Richie… stop looking like a puppy who’s been beat, I thought you of all people would get a kick out of playing my hero.” The words were spoken with an air of sarcasm, but there was an honesty to Eddie’s words.

It immediately diminished his own fears, Eddie wouldn’t… he _wouldn’t_ think of Richie as a monstrosity. He’s Eddie Kaspbrak, he’s a _Loser_ \- he’s the kid who had to live and grow up with his own fears of being or becoming a monster. And just hearing that Eddie viewed him as the hero of their story, even sarcastically speaking, he bet a guy like Michael Landon would envy Richie Tozier.

Richie wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and yanked him into his side. “Oh Eds baby - that’s awful sweet of ya. You’re a real Prince Charming, you know that?”

“And you’re a real pain in my ass.” Eddie shoved at the taller teen’s side when he started playing with strands of Eddie’s neatly combed hair.

“Give it a minute my love, won’t be a _pain_ for long.”

“You’re incredible.” The asthmatic retorted dryly, he placed his hands on the front of Richie’s chest and pushed him towards the window good-naturedly. He looked flustered from the erotic joking, and Richie - _well_ , he never said he didn’t regret his own apt for impulsivity.

“Incredible _how_ exactly?” Richie cooed, and the tacky and flirty grin he had was embarrassing at best. “Incredibly talented? Incredibly smart? Incredibly attractive?”

“I’ll give you maybe _one_ of those things.”

“Is it attractive? Spaghetti Man, do you think I’m attractive?”

“Incredibly talented.” Eddie’s eyes were twinkling, filled with mirth that he only ever seemed to get when he let go of his own inhibitions. “You have a real talent for behaving like a _ditz._ ”

Another pebble, this one thrown with much more fervor clanged against the still opened window. “I-If you don’t h-huh-hurry up Tozier I’m going to p-puh-pound you!” Bill hissed from just outside. “I’m freezing m-muh-my dick o-off.”

“Charming.” Richie nodded appreciatively, and planted a very brief kiss on Eddie’s cheek. He mussed up the shorter teen’s perfectly styled hair and endlessly enjoyed the scowl that appeared on his best friend’s face - and the obligatory slap to his hand that followed the excessive hair petting. “Keep writing those applications sweets, preferably for universities in Cali.” He had one foot out the window as he turned back to Eddie and winked. “Anywhere that has beaches Eds - you look extra cute with a tan.”

Richie had both feet in the snow when Eddie leaned his head out the window, his face pink. “You’ll never make it to Cali if you keep calling me Eds!” He called through cupped palms, and Richie knew as well as Eddie that there was no way Mrs. K _hadn’t_ heard that. “You know I hate it, you jackass!”

The window was slammed shut, too loud to not be heard throughout the house. And Richie stared up at it in awe.

“Jeepers.” Mike mumbled. “What was that about?”

“Nothing much.” Richie shrugged, the proud grin on his face told on him. “Just Eddie being the bravest person I know.”

“S-So… it’s a normal S-Suh-Saturday?”

“Normal Saturday.” Richie nodded, and he picked up Candyland off of the ground. “Now how’s about we get the hell outta here before ol’ Mrs. Kaspbrak calls the pigs.”

+

As winter drew on, the weather in Derry stagnated at a crippling 10 degrees fahrenheit.

The snow storms were more frequent, and they seemed to last much longer than before. The ground was constantly covered in ice, and the lucky seven began to seriously mourn the summer sunshine. On the night of December 22, 1964 - Wentworth Tozier came home from a long day at his office in a bad mood. It wasn’t uncommon, for Richie’s dad to get frustrated after a long day of working. But during the Christmas season, the older man didn’t give into his anger as often.

Richie was lounging on the couch, his eyes drooping sleepily the longer he stared at the television which was playing It’s a Wonderful Life - Richie didn’t understand why people loved that movie so much, he was falling asleep just watching it.

His drowsiness diminished almost instantly when the front door slammed open, and his father bustled into the kitchen where Maggie was cooking dinner - his snow boots leaving wet splotches on the normally incredibly spotless carpeted floor. He didn’t lift his head up as he watched Wentworth pass, but it didn’t seem the man was paying him any mind. He was dead set on Maggie Tozier, so much so that he hadn’t taken off his coat or his boots at the door - which was an immediate red flag for Richie.

The radio in the kitchen, which was playing Jingle Bells at a low volume was shut off - and Richie heard his mother hum in confusion.

“Margaret.” He heard his father hiss, and the tone of his voice had Richie sitting up like he had a pipe for a spine. “Would you care to explain to me why Zack Denbrough spoke to me today about my wife applying for a job in the Derry Sewer Systems?”

A chill went up Richie’s spine at the mention of the sewers, at the idea that his mother wanted to _work_ in them. But he stayed extremely silent as he strained to hear his mother’s response, her whispered words that were meant to be so quiet that Richie couldn’t hear. “Went, we talked about this. If this doesn’t work out I can’t rely on Richard to take care of me…” Her voice sounded sad, throaty and hurt. “He doesn’t even have a job of his own yet.”

Wentworth’s fist slamming against the counter in frustration had Richie’s heart picking up. “Are you _expecting_ this marriage to fail? Applying for a… a municipal career without talking to me about it first?”

“Plenty of women in this town are doing the same thing.” Maggie accused, but her voice was shaky. “You’re angry Wentworth… I suggest you sleep your anger off before we continue this conversation. If you make anymore noise you’ll disturb the Bowie’s next door… they just lost their daughter last year, the last thing they need is noisy neighbors.”

The kitchen was silent, for long enough that Richie felt the need to anxiously scrambled his way off of the couch and into the corridor to get a view of his mother - now slowly stirring the pot full of food she was cooking, and his father leaning against the counter next to the stove. His jaw was clenched in anger, but there was clear hurt shining in his blue eyes.

“Don’t you want this relationship to work?” He asked, and the thickness of his voice surprised Richie. His blue eyes seemed shiny. “I-I know I haven’t been the best husband but I love you… and I love Richie… I just want…”

“Went.” Maggie interrupted, and she shut the stove off. One of her hands, touched his shoulder and it looked thin and pale sat there. “All I want… is for you to make time for us. Richie is graduating at the end of the year - he’s not staying in Derry. You know that as well as I do.” Her voice was soft, gentle. “I don’t want to feel like the only reason we’re together is because of Richie. I want time to be made for me, for us. Before he leaves.”

Richie’s throat felt dry the longer he stared at his folks, and for a moment, he regretted his decision to leave Derry. How could he leave now? When his parents are bordering on a divorce? When his mother is looking for a job to support herself when they separate? When his father is close to tears because he knows he may be completely alone soon?

And then Wentworth chuckled, a fond and kind thing. So very different than the angered man Richie saw storm in through the front door.

“He’s a strange kid.” The man spoke, good naturedly. “Zack wasn’t the only person I spoke to this week.” At Maggie’s questioning glance, Went leaned down and spoke a bit quieter, “Sonia Kaspbrak had some words for me, ran into her at Freese’s while I was getting a pack of cigs.”

A hot wave of panic flooded Richie, and he prayed to all the mighty powers that be that Sonia Kaspbrak spoke to her dad about the dangers of cigarettes and not his brat child. Wentworth shook his head, smiling sadly at the ground. “Poor Eddie was with her, looked completely humiliated. Had to hear her go on and on about what a rebellious hellspawn little Richie is. Apparently he’s been abducting her son and turning him into a…” Wentworth cleared his throat, looking less than amused. “ _Flaming queer._ ”

“Went.” Maggie scolded, her eyes narrowed up at the man.

“Her words, not mine.” Wentworth spoke, holding his hands up in a motion of surrender. Maggie looked mildly content with that, and went back to cooking. “I let her get it off her chest… she went on for fifteen minutes, and if I wasn’t craving those cigs I probably wouldn’t have said anything back.”

In all of his years, Richie didn’t think he had ever loved his father more than when he said, “I told her to mind her goddamned business. It’s none of her concern how I raise my boy, and I think he’s a damn good kid.” Wentworth looked certain of himself as he said it, his finger tapping against the countertop. “Told her that I wasn’t going to air her dirty laundry in front of the entire supermarket, for Eddie’s sake, but I won’t stand there and listen to her demonize my Richie in front of the town.”

Both Richie and Maggie were silent, shocked, as they listened to the older man tell the story. He laughed then, humorlessly.

“The Kaspbrak boy, he wants to go to New York. That’s what his Ma said.” Wentworth nodded then, sadly. “Think Richie might be going with him.”

“I hope so.” Maggie mumbled. “Anywhere is better than Derry.”

Richie stopped listening to the conversation at that point. He escaped into the comfort of his own bedroom, locking the door behind him and sitting on the hardwood floor trying to ignore his erratically pounding heart. His parents were considering… _divorce_? _Richie’s_ parents? The same parents who only ever argued when it was over whether to watch The Andy Griffith Show or Bewitched? How could _his_ parents possibly be getting divorced? Bill’s parents were still together - and they hadn’t got along since… well, he supposed that was a cruel comparison to make.

They were a match made in heaven, his folks. If the two of them weren’t meant to be together then… then who the hell _was_ ? If Wentworth and Maggie Tozier could have their relationship threatened, who’s to say that _Richie’s_ relationships are eternal?

If his parents could leave one another, who’s to say they couldn’t leave him? The lucky seven were a match made in heaven, meant to live through the likes of hell. Their bond, as everlasting as they all claim it is, could be broken just as easily as his parents. What happens when Eddie Kaspbrak gets to New York, and decides that Richie Tozier was never serious enough for him anyways? Richie stifled a sob into his shirt sleeve. What happens when he decides that Richie Tozier was just that kid from Derry, the weird kid who was too loud and too _much?_

What happens when he comes back home, and finds out his parents always felt the same way.

“ _You’re a lot to handle, Richie_.” He remembered his Mother saying on Easter morning 1961, her hand was clasped around his wrist as they made their way out of Catholic Church. “ _Did you see how the other boys were_ behaving _? Sometimes I wish you were more like_ that.”

“ _Please be quiet, Richie_.” Ben Hanscom, sweetest guy he knew, in their shared study hall tenth grade year. He looked tired - _annoyed_ , even. “ _I’m just asking you to stop fidgeting and be quiet._ ”

“ _You must be so tired Richie._ ” This voice… this one was smooth, kind - with the gravelly tone of someone who was aging. Who had been aging for a while, perhaps. He couldn’t remember who it was, but he could see the grinning canines of the Teenage Werewolf. And the engraved RT stitched into the pocket of his letterman. “ _Being so terrified of yourself._ ” Richie remembered shaking his head, hastily. “ _No? You can’t lie to me, Trashmouth. I can smell it on you.”_

Something small, wrapped in the handkerchief that was always in his father’s coat, was slid underneath the doorway of his bedroom.

Richie, always so needlessly emotional, wiped the tears from his eyes and picked up the parcel. As the handkerchief fell apart, he came face to face with his switchblade. Looking spotless, and Richie had half a mind to think Eddie cleaned it for him.

“Sonia threw it at me on her way out of Freese’s.” His father’s voice came from the other side of the door, soft and gentle. Richie didn’t startle when he heard him, just continued to stare down at the knife in his palm. “Said something about my hazard child leaving weapons in her son’s bedroom.”

“Sorry, Pops.” Richie grumbled, he let the knife and the handkerchief fall into his lap. “Didn’t think the crazy bat would confront you.”

“I don’t mind.” Wentworth hummed, and then he chuckled. “I used to do much worse things than pissing off parents. There’s a reason I’m not invited to Margaret’s family reunions… You remind me a lot of myself, you know. ‘Spose that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise, I did have a pretty important role in your existence.” Richie smiled. “Though… my role as a father has been subpar. At best.”

The older man sighed, and Richie heard his foot tapping against the carpet just outside of his bedroom. “I’m not… great… at honest emotion.”

“Guess that’s one of those things of yours that I inherited.” Richie croaked out.

“I’m sorry for that.” Wentworth spoke, awkwardly. “I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

On the evening of the very next day, his father quietly announced over dinner that he was taking a week off of work starting Christmas Eve and ending New Years Eve. He kept his eyes trained on his plate in front of him as he explained that he called his sister, Catherine, and asked if she would lend him her cabin in Denver, Colorado so his family could take a much needed vacation. It was when he looked up from his food, towards Maggie with pleading eyes and she responded with a wide grin, thankfulness written across her face; that Richie understood that some bonds can be eternal.

But you have to _work_ for it.

He reached into his pocket and grabbed at his knife, feeling comforted by it’s presence as he abruptly stood from the dinner table. “Can I please be excused?” He asked, his foot was already rapidly tapping underneath the table. “I need to call Bill.”

“Sure thing, son.” Wentworth said, with wary eyes. “Just remember to get your clothes packed before tomorrow. We have a long trip ahead of us.”

That definitely wouldn’t be a problem. If there was one thing Richie Tozier could do well, it was anything done at the last minute. Including _this._  The rotary phone his parents installed into his room during eleventh grade year was tucked under his ear as he scurried about the room trying not to make too much noise and startle his parents, and also trying his hardest not to tangle the wire connected to the phone.

“I-I don’t kn-knuh-know Richie.” Bill was speaking in a whisper, which was usually the case if his parents were home. “Eddie’s still g-grounded, and I-I don’t know if m-muh-my folks will appreciate me i-inviting you guys over on a W-Wuh-Wednesday night.”

“Big Bill, you know I love it when you doubt me. Really gets my motor going.” Richie gasped excitedly as he spotted an old library book underneath his bed, he yanked it from the mess and deposited it in his bag - which was already full of assorted crap from his room that he was going to need tonight. “But I need you to do this for me. I promise it’s important. Pinky swear.”

Bill groaned. “F-Fuh-Fine. But if th-this is just a w-way for you to p-puh-practice your ventriloquism with an a-auh-audience like _last time_ …”

“I _promise_ it’s not.” Richie reassured, his school book bag slung over his shoulder. “And Billy… don’t pretend you don’t adore my ventriloquism skills. You know I hate it when you play hard to get with me.”

“G-Gud- _Goodbye_ Trashmouth.”

Richie Tozier, he was a spur of the moment kind of guy. The kind of guy who threw a bunch of the random shit he owned into his emptied out school book bag, and hauled ass over to Bill Denbrough’s house before the sun set for a completely unprepared act of gratitude for their friendship. _That_ kind of guy.

As dysfunctional as he knew he was, he wasn’t an old dog - and he _could_ learn new tricks. And it just so happened that the trick his father taught him on that day, was that even a fucked up kid who’s too loud and too much doesn’t have to be afraid of losing everyone he loves. They don’t love him in spite of all his Tozier-isms, they love him _because_ of those things. It’s when you don’t show the reciprocation of that love, that you lose everyone you care for. And then _you_ start to become the monster. “ _You must be so tired._ ” Richie was standing in front of the Denbrough house, staring at the closed shutters of every window while he stood atop the storm drain. “ _Being terrified of yourself.”_

“Yeah.” Richie mumbled, and he glared down at the sewer. “Pretty fucking tired.”

His fear of Michael Landon wasn’t over, it never would be. Because no matter what, he _was_ the Teenage Werewolf. He was an emotionally inept, buck toothed, bug eyed, loud and weird _freak_ to the public. But he was _Richie fucking Tozier_ in private.

“Richie, explain to me how you’re the last person to arrive to the Losers meeting _you_ set up.” Those were the first words out of Beverly’s mouth when Richie walked into Bill’s bedroom - backpack slung over one shoulder and an easy smile on his face. The redheaded girl had her head leaning on Ben’s shoulder, both of whom looked entirely too comfortable lounging on the top bunk of Bill’s bunk bed.

If Richie wasn’t so preoccupied, he definitely would have commented on the closeness of the two.

“I had some last minute preparations to do.” The bespectacled teen winked, and he adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. Stan’s eyes followed the movement, he crossed his legs in the desk chair that he was sat at.

“Well don’t keep us in suspense, Trashmouth.” Mike sat behind Stan on Bill’s desk, which was noticeably neater than usual. Richie suspected Stan and Mike had something to do with that. “Tell us why you called us all here the day before Christmas Eve, my Dad was making yams tonight.” Mike looked solemn. “The ones with _marshmallows_.”

“And I had to convince my mom that Bill invited me over here for a school mandated Christmas presentation.” Eddie was sat on the hardwood floor in front of the bottom bunk of Bill’s bed, owner of said bed kept nudging the brunet with his sock covered feet from his position on the bunk. “I have a curfew so you better make it fast.”

“Ah say Eds, I pity the girl who loses her V Card to Mr. Better make it fast.”

“ _Before_ the two of of you start bickering like kindergarteners.” Stan interrupted, one of his hands held up placatingly. “Can Richie at least tell us _why_ we’re here.”

All eyes were on Richie as he took his bag off of his shoulder. “Do you know how many times I’ve told you guys that I love you without making it the punchline of a joke?” He started, steadfastly ignoring the staring from his friends as he unzipped his bag. “Seven times. Once, was at the Barrens after we went crawling through the sewers.”

Richie grimaced. “For the life of me, I can’t remember why we decided to crawl around in that shit.”

He pulled out the first thing from his bag, a book full of haikus and assorted poems that he never returned to the library - and his father had to pay for in his eighth grade year. “Lost this thing years ago, trying to learn how to write poetry like Ben Hanscom to impress Greta Bowie.”

He tossed the book at Ben, who caught it with wide hazel eyes and a mouth gaping in shock. “Richie is this… a _library_ book?”

“Don’t worry it’s paid for.” Richie waved his hand dismissively. “My dad is still mad that he had to pay for a book I never even read. It’s yours.” He hummed curiously, looking down into his bag with furrowed brows. “Where was I? _Right,_  the second time I said I love you - was the day Henry Bowers’ was taken into the asylum’s custody. Had to have been the happiest day of my life.”

The next thing he pulled from his bag, was a small photo album, composed of pictures that Bill took with his father’s camera. Before his father pawned it off to buy Mrs. Denbrough a new piano for her birthday several years ago. He tossed it to Bill, who stared down at it warily the moment it landed in his hands.

“The photo album may seem a little tasteless,” Richie remembered what Bill Denbrough’s hands looked like when they were stained with blood and smudging against the unlaminated pages of an older and larger photo album. “But considering Bill Denbrough and tasteless go together like peanut butter and jelly - you shouldn’t be too concerned.”

The redhead shot him a wry look, as he opened the (laminated) pages of the album.

His face softened as his eyes darted across the photos. “I r-ruh-remember this.” He mumbled, his finger dragged across an image of the lucky seven all crammed together on the bottom bunk of Bill’s bed - all significantly younger.

Richie cleared his throat as he received a particularly soft and caring look from his best friend, who looked emotional in a way that Bill hardly ever was. “The third time I said I love you, was when we beat those low life punks who live down the street at a game of ball.” He shook his head a little fondly, and tossed Stan a huge pair of binoculars from his bag. “And if I’m remembering correctly it was Stan, who hit the homerun that won us the game.”

Stan stared at the luxurious pair of binoculars in shock, his face was turning red the longer he stared at the gift. “God Richie… how much did you _pay_ for these?”

“My dad gave ‘em to me.” He shrugged, and scratched the back of his neck bashfully. “Heard you talking about going bird watching and thought I might want a pair of binoculars so I could join you. He didn’t know I wasn’t allowed on your bird watching trips.”

“You make way too much noise.” Stan nodded in confirmation, he was smiling. “I… can’t accept a Christmas gift though.”

“It’s not for Christmas.” Richie explained, he winked then. “But if you’re into this Richie playing Santa thing, you can just call me… whatever the Jewish version of Santa is.”

Richie pulled an old, beat up yellow yoyo from his bag. Beverly grinned and instantly held out her palms to catch the toy. “The fourth time I said I love you, was at the ninth grade Homecoming dance. After Beverly Marsh danced with every single one of us Losers’ and made us look like the coolest guys on the planet.”

“I wouldn’t say the _coolest._ ” Beverly rolled her eyes, but she was blushing.

“Everyone at that dance would, and so you get my most prized possession.” Richie stared sadly at the toy in her hands. “The yoyo my grandmother passed down to me before she died.”

“Both of your grandmothers are still alive, Richie.”

“The _fifth_ time I said I love you,” Richie yanked a huge vinyl from his bag, Buddy Holly’s face displayed proudly on the cover. He walked over to Mike and handed it to him, he had a rhythm going but he wasn’t _crazy_. Throwing his _favorite_ album and risking damaging it? Not a chance. “Was in June when Mike Hanlon took me to see The Rolling Stones in New York City.”

“No one appreciates a good rock show like you do, Richie Tozier.”

“And no one understands my love of Buddy Holly like you do, Mike Hanlon.” Richie gently bumped his shoulder against Mike’s. “And to quote our ol’ boy Holly… I’m good and lost in a fool’s paradise with ya.”

He dropped his backpack on the ground, as it was completely empty. He looked from the bag to Eddie - who looked tense in his spot seated on the hardwood floor. “Last but certainly not least…” He sighed, walking slowly towards the asthmatic. He crouched in front of the brunet, a teasing smile on his face and his head of curls tilted. “Hey, you.”

He leaned forward and planted a wet kiss on Eddie’s forehead. “The sixth time I said I love you, was the first day of our senior year. I’m sure you all remember it.” Richie looked dramatically away from Eddie, who was desperately trying not to blush at their proximity. “Spaghetti Head was wearing overall shorts that day. Cutest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Are you giving me a gift or are you going to keep breathing in my face.” Eddie spoke, and his breath caught halfway through his sentence.

Richie dragged his eyes back to the thin faced teen seated below him, and frowned. “Keep it’n ya pants Kaspbrak, y’ull get chur gift.” The Officer Nell accent tended to come out when he was nervous. He cleared his throat, and continued in his own voice. “I showed up to school that day with nothing but my charm, not a pencil or a piece of paper on me.” He grinned then, and eyed Eddie. “Would you like to finish the story, my talkative dear?”

Eddie was glaring up at him, but the way his lips twitched in amusement gave him away. “I knew you wouldn’t come with supplies. You never do. So I… bought extra with the money I made working at the Aladdin over the summer.”

“I’m never prepared for anything.” Richie whispered as if he was admitting a secret. “And Eddie my love, you think about what I’ll need even when I don’t. You take care of _all_ of us.”

Richie reached into his pocket, and pulled out his knife. He deposited it into Eddie’s hand, and let his fingers linger there - letting himself enjoy the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach that the touch made him feel. “I’m taking a page out of your book… let me take care of you.”

Richie could see himself reflected in Eddie’s honey brown eyes, he could see how fond he looked staring down at the teen and he could still feel his fingertips tingling from where he touched the hypochondriac. Bill, ever the jackass, cleared his throat and interrupted the stare that was becoming all too intense for Richie’s liking. “S-So?” Bill asked, curious blue eyes on Richie. “What w-wuh-was the seventh t-time y-yuh-you said I love y-you?”

“You already know, Denbrough. Don’t yank my chain.” Richie rolled his eyes, and stood, so he and Eddie now had a safe and breathable distance between each other. “I love you guys. And as out of character as this is for me, I wanted you all to know it.”

“Of course we know that you love us Richie.” Beverly said, she hopped down from the top bunk - and cupped Richie’s face between her hands. It never got old, having Beverly Marsh smile up at him like that. “You didn’t have to do all this to prove it. You don’t say it aloud as much as I do or as much as Mike or Ben or even Eddie does, but I know what you _really_ mean when you have one cigarette left and you let me have it.”

Richie laughed then, his blue eyes crinkled at the edges. “That I’m a helpless addict trying desperately to quit?”

Beverly smacked his arm. “That you _love_ me.”

+

There was something beautiful about Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie didn’t understand it, God knows he didn’t understand it. But he was beautiful - like one of the girls in the nudie mags his Dad hid in a shoe box under his bed. Attractive, in a way Richie supposed men shouldn’t be. It wasn’t Eddie’s fault, that much he knew. It’s not as if he did anything to pronounce his pretty _pretty_ features. Always wearing the same slacks and sweater combo since he was old enough to dress.

Richie wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been paying attention. Although paying attention wasn’t one of his strong suits, he noticed fairly early in their friendship that Eddie was a beaut.

He shouldn’t have been. Not with his thin face and pale skin, his pointed nose and the permanent worry lines in his cheeks. But he _was._  And _boy,_  was it hard for Richie to keep ignoring it. Especially when he looked the way he did on the night of December 23, 1964 - walking home from Bill Denbrough’s house with Richie Tozier as his personal escort.

Richie realized it, he _really_ realized it when Eddie stopped him in the middle of the road and pointed towards the sky - where snow was starting to fall, slowly and gorgeously. It was when he blew cigarette smoke upwards into the night air, and looked back down to see Eddie’s honey brown eyes staring up at the barely visible stars from behind the clouds, a snowflake landing gingerly on the tip of his nose - that Richie Tozier realized how striking Eddie Kaspbrak was.

It made a bit more sense now, when his breath caught in his throat due to all of the fluttering in his chest.

He wondered if everyone felt like this when they looked at Eddie. They must, when he looks the way he does now. With glittering eyes and a barely concealed grin that gave brief glimpses of his pearly teeth.

“It’s only been a few weeks.” Eddie mumbled, and his eyes fluttered - averting from the sky to Richie. “But would you believe that I’ve really missed walking through the snow?”

“Not for a second.” Richie took another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke into Eddie’s face this time which resulted in the brunet groaning and shoving at his jacketed arm. “It’s freezing out here, I’m surprised you’re not _running_ to get back in your cozy 200 degrees bedroom.”

Sonia Kaspbrak’s curfew was early, eight o’clock on the dot. Which meant that Eddie barely spent an hour at Bill’s house before he had to leave and get back to the ‘ _comfort’_ of his humble abode. After one game of Yahtzee, Eddie stood up and announced that his mom would want him back - with a grimace on his face. If it hadn’t been for the clear look of sadness, Richie probably would have stayed for longer. But he stood as well and offered to walk Eddie home, “ _I have a curfew too Eds baby, got a ride to Colorado to catch tomorrow and all that jive._ ”

Leaving early was worth it when Eddie bit down on his lip to conceal a blossoming grin.

“You’re right - I’m amped to spend another month in my bedroom with my mom barging in every ten minutes to make sure I haven’t run away to Canada.”

Richie, walking leisurely with his cigarette perched between his lips, shrugged. “Least you get trips to Freese’s.” He saw Eddie wince from the corner of his eye. “Typically shopping privileges aren’t granted to grounded kids who haven’t served at least a _nickel_ of their time.”

“I feel terrible about that.” Eddie groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his glove covered fingertips. “If I had known she was going to yell at your Dad…”

Richie waved his hand passively. “‘S no big deal. Think he was happy to express his distaste for your Ma to her face.” The asthmatic snorted. “Besides, I don’t care what Mrs. K thinks of me - as long as you still think I’m the coolest guy on the East Coast.”

“I _never_ thought you were the coolest guy on the East Coast.” Eddie rolled his eyes, but he was grinning from ear to ear. Richie averted his eyes towards the road stretched out ahead of them the moment his face started feeling warm from the smile on his best friend’s face. Derry was small, small enough that a walk from Bill Denbrough’s house to Eddie Kaspbrak’s house shouldn’t have taken any more than fifteen minutes walking at a regular pace.

Every now and then, it seemed as if Eddie’s pace would slow into something even slower than leisurely - as if he was _trying_ to make the walk last longer.

Richie would have believed it was because he wasn’t ready to be locked back up in his home, had it not been for the slight widening of his honey eyes and the unbridled look of panic that briefly flashed across his face right before he would slow down.

“You know Eds,” He started, pulling his cigarette from his mouth and flicking it into a pile of snow near one of the storm drains on the side of the road. “I’m starting to regret giving my favorite vinyl to Mike. The hell am I going to listen to when I’m want to rock out? Elvis Presley?”

“Hey.” Eddie scolded, frown on his face. He bumped Richie’s shoulder again. “I _like_ Elvis.”

Richie felt unnecessarily annoyed by that answer, he didn’t have the time to respond before Eddie was looking up at him again with a soft look in his eyes. “That was real sweet what you did today Richie.” The taller of the duo felt his throat burning, he blamed the cold winter air. “I would hardly say it was taking a page out of my book, I’m never that expressive.”

Embarrassed, Richie shrugged one of his shoulders. “Just wanted you to know that I give a shit about you, ‘m not always a complete jackass.”

The Kaspbrak house was in view, Eddie’s footsteps slowed down once again but they would be at Sonia’s doorstep within a minute or two - regardless of how slowly Eddie was attempting to walk.

“My Ma might just have a heart attack if she finds your knife on me, _again_.” The brunet was smiling coyly. “That’s quite possibly the best way you could show me that you give a shit about me.” He turned and looked up at Richie. “But I already knew you cared about me, Rich.”

They were stood in front of Eddie’s house, right in front of the steps leading up to his front door when he turned and looked up at Richie with seriousness in his honey colored eyes. “I’m sick of doing what my Ma wants me to do. I’m sick of letting her control my life, and I’m sick of feeling like one day I’m going to give in and become the son she _wants_ me to be.”

“Damn straight.” Richie whispered, his breath turned to mist in the freezing air and he watched as it was carried away by an oncoming breeze.

“I’m moving the _fuck_ out of this town, I’m taking you with me and I’m _never_ looking back.” Eddie was grinning, excitement plain as day on his thin face. His voice was quiet but his words were loud, and Richie loved this look on him.

“That’s the kind of spirit I like to see on ya’ Eds.” Richie grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a happy little shake. The teen giggled at the movement and Richie found himself smiling right back. “You’re not going to kill ol’ Mrs. K though? Right? Because as much as I love this attitude I prefer my little plate of Spaghetti to _not_ be incarcerated.”

“I’m not going to kill my mom, dumbass.” Eddie’s voice came out in a mix between a shriek and a laugh. He gently smacked the front of Richie’s chest. “ _Jeezum crow you’re dramatic._ ”

“I was starting to think giving you that switchblade was a bad call.” Richie nodded, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement from behind his coke bottle lenses. “Well ah say boy ah say… no one can kick ass like Eddie Kaspbrak can. Seen it m’self.”

“ _Goodbye_ Richie.” The teen said with an eye roll, as he gently knocked Richie’s hands from off of his shoulders and stepped up onto the doorstep. Richie started to turn around, still mumbling nonsense words in his less than outstanding Foghorn Leghorn voice - when Eddie’s footsteps stopped on the staircase and the sound of him walking back down could be heard. “Richie… _wait.”_

It happened quickly, all of it did. Richie hadn’t moved far, so he wasn’t surprised when almost immediately after he heard Eddie running back down the stairs he felt a small hand wrap around the collar of his jacket and drag him around so he was facing the direction of Eddie’s house. He barely had enough time to see how pale Eddie’s face was, how panicked and wide his eyes were before the other gloved hand gently cupped the bottom of his jaw.

He didn’t hear the sharp intake of breath from the brunet before he was pulled forward, and Eddie’s smooth lips were pressing against his.

Richie stood there, frozen. Just feeling the warm press of Eddie’s lips against his cold ones, the unmoving and inexperienced sensation of the kiss that had him scrambling to grip Eddie’s forearm - just holding it in an iron grip, unsure of whether he wanted to push the teen off or pull him closer.

The idea of entertaining the second option had him gasping into Eddie’s mouth, and the kiss that wasn’t any longer than five seconds was over. Eddie’s face was beat red, his breathing was heavy and his lower lip was trembling.

Richie stumbled backwards the moment Eddie’s hand unclenched from the collar of his jacket, and he landed flat on his ass on the snow covered ground. The butt of his jeans was soaked through but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe as he stared up at Eddie Kaspbrak - his lips still tingling and his heart racing while the memory of the kiss so soft it felt more like a caress.

“I’m… I’m going to be _me_.” His voice came out hushed and shaky.

He didn’t respond, but he supposed he wouldn’t have had the chance to if he tried anyways. Eddie turned on his heel and ran back up the doorstep and into his house the moment he stopped talking. And Richie - Richie Tozier sat on his lawn, his hands that laid atop the snow shaking and his eyes watering. He wouldn’t cry. He _wouldn’t_ cry on Eddie Kaspbrak’s front lawn, he wouldn’t cry because that would mean there’s no turning back. The moment he let a tear fall - the moment he let his quiet whimpering breaths turn into sobs, he wouldn’t be able to lie to himself anymore.

He wouldn’t be able to pretend he wasn’t crying because that quick moment, that extremely brief moment, is what made him realize _why_ he found Eddie so goddamned beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i loved all of your comments, leave me one here


	3. Chapter 3

“ _You took me up to Heaven, when you took me in your arms.”_  Richie Tozier’s singing voice had always been nice, over the years it progressively got smoother... nicer. That made sense, he supposed, as his voices had improved throughout the years too. His music taste though, hadn’t improved in the slightest. Though - he didn’t think it needed to. His listeners seemed to enjoy his taste in rock and roll, though they often requested newer songs. Less Buddy Holly and Hendrix, more Led Zeppelin and Queen. He tried not to let it get to him, that he was _aging. “I was dazzled by your kisses, blinded by your charms_.”  
  
His thirtieth birthday hung over his head dauntingly, the calendar in the tiny radio station he worked at became a countdown.  
  
Every time he flipped the page - he was reminded that he was eight, seven, six, five months away from the day he is no longer a man in his roaring twenties. Hell, he could already feel the side effects of his matured age.  
  
No longer were the days of pulling all nighters and  going to bars and comedy clubs on weekdays to find the nearest man or woman that would be potentially interested in a goofy and far too lanky twenty five year old who was new to the Beverly Hills scene. His all nighters, which were usually few and far between, were mostly spent at his station. Coming up with new voices to try out and planning out his future interviews with the rock stars and actors he had strict orders to grill about the albums, tours, movies and television shows that they come onto his show to promote.  
  
Richie Tozier was lounging in his office, his feet propped on his desk and his eyes trained on the calendar that had yet to be flipped from March to April. Though - any fool would know that it was no longer March, with the way the air conditioning was blasting through the studio.  
  
That was the great thing about California, winter was brief the way that summer in Maine was.  
  
It was a week into April of 1976, the midday sun slowly fading into the early afternoon when Richie Tozier’s manager, Johnny Wilson, stuck his head through the cracked door leading into his office - with a placating smile on his face. Richie grinned at the man, and let his feet drop onto the ground and off of his desk.  
  
“You have a visitor, Rich.” Johnny opened the door entirely and waltzed in, a cockiness in his step. He was a strange man, the type of man who wore cowboy hats to work everyday although he was a Manager working in Beverly Hills.  
  
“Not an ex?” Richie asked, his voice was teasing but the question was serious.  
  
“Unlikely. He’s not your type.” Wilson smiled wryly, and he knew there was a jab at him somewhere in the statement. “Said he went to college with you, real nice looking smart fella like that couldn’t have had the hots for ol’ Rich Records.” The man scratched the top of his head, cowboy hat nudged back in the process. “That ringing any bells?”  
  
“I didn’t go to college.” Richie mumbled, frown deepening on his face. After he graduated high school in Derry, he moved to New York for a few years but not for _college._ He spent his time at comedy clubs trying to make it big in stand up before he moved to California.  
  
Granted, his apartment was extremely close to NYU. Which didn’t make any sense looking back on it, why live that close to a University you aren’t interested in attending instead of living closer to the comedy clubs he regularly attended. Would have saved him all of the subway and bus ticket fares that’s for damn sure. Richie shrugged, and glanced back up at Johnny - who was standing with both of his thumbs jammed into the front pockets of his washed out blue jeans.  
  
“Probably just another fan.” Richie leaned back in his rolling chair, wincing when it creaked loud enough to echo throughout the room.  
  
”You want me to tell him to fuck off?” Johnny asked, the grin on his face suggesting that he was entirely too pleased with the thought of telling some cute college graduate to get the fuck out.  
  
“Yeah.” Richie rolled his eyes. “Be nice to him though Wilson, we don’t want to lose a fan.”  
  
Johnny left his door wide open as he waltzed out, still with all too much swagger in his step for a man wearing denim on denim. Richie sighed, and stood up to close the opened door behind the man. “Sorry kid, he’s not taking visitors today.” Richie, with one hand still outstretched towards the knob, paused in the doorway at the sound of Johnny’s voice. His _flirty_ voice - _oh brother_. “So... how long have you been in Beverly Hills?”  
  
“Not long.” The other voice was agitated, words spoken through gritted teeth. Richie tilted his head, maybe he _did_ know the guy. Could definitely be an ex trying to yell at him - despite Johnny’s claims that he was out of Richie’s league. Most of Richie’s exes are out of his league. “Can’t he make an exception? I _really_ need to see him.”  
  
Richie’s feet began to slowly carry him from his studio.  
  
“Bud, if you want an autograph, I can get you an autograph.” Johnny was starting to sound frustrated, likely at the lack of reciprocal flirting. “Hows about I buy you a cup of coffee and we’ll see what we can do about that autograph.”  
  
“I don’t want an _autograph,_  jackass.” God that voice, he was certain he knew it. His name was on the tip of Richie’s tongue. “I want you to go _get_ Richie Tozier,” Jesus, when is the last time someone called him Richie? “I want you to tell him that his best friend is here - and I’m not leaving until I get to see him.”  
  
Richie inched forward and he could see the back of Johnny’s cowboy hat, the other man was obscured from behind a wall of a denim jacket.  
  
“Tell him... tell him I have something of his.” The man’s voice was smaller now, Richie had to strain to hear him. “I’m just here to give it back to him. That’s all.”  
  
“And who exactly _are_ you?” Wilson asked, snarl in his voice.  
  
“ _Eddie Kaspbrak_.” The name didn’t click with Richie, not for a moment. He leaned against the wall, so he was out of sight - _Eddie Kaspbrak,_  God maybe he was a worse drunk when he was in his early 20’s than he thought. Surely his memory shouldn’t be this terrible. “Eds. He called me Eds.”

+ 

 

Much like the months before it, January of 1965 in Derry, Maine began with a chill in the air and fresh snowfall on the ground. And as it seemed to be tradition these last few months, Richie Tozier was sitting outside on his front porch in the early morning hours of New Years’ Day. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and the switchblade that Richie turned about in his palm reflected the gentle glow from the sky. The knife was on his dresser, when the Tozier’s finally made it back from Colorado, well after three in the morning. Tucked under the knife was a small folded sticky note, and in Eddie Kaspbrak’s neat scrawl were the words ‘ _I’m sorry.’_  
  
Sleeping didn’t seem like much of an option after that.  
  
The snow lying on the ground sparkled gorgeously with every new height that the sun rose in the sky, and if the hot dog wrappers scattered across the yard from the Bowie’s New Years Eve celebration hadn’t obscured the view it may have been picturesque. Though, Richie couldn’t say his own littering wasn’t to blame. Dismally - he glanced down at the small pile of cigarette buds atop the snow next to where he sat.  
  
His fourth cigarette of the morning, now dwindling down to a bud, was pinched between his lips. And if he hadn’t been drifting in and out of his own thoughts, he may have put it out and tossed it into the snow before his father - wearing a deep red robe - plopped down on the porch steps next to him.  
  
“I wish you wouldn’t smoke those things.” Wentworth’s voice startled Richie, he yanked the cigarette from his mouth but didn’t make to throw it away quite yet. The older man, with bags under his blue eyes, smiled wearily at his son. “If the Derry winter doesn’t kill me, the lung disease damn sure will.”  
  
Richie let the bud drop into the snow.  
  
Wentworth huffed out a misty breath, one that Richie could place as somewhere between amused and relieved.  
  
“Why are you out here in the cold, anyways?” His father asked, and the question wasn’t probing - it wasn’t accusatory. If it hadn’t been for the telling downwards tilt of Wentworth’s lips, he would have never known the man was asking out of concern. “Surely it’s not to _smoke_. Real Tozier men smoke in their bedrooms with their windows wide open.”  
  
The teen glanced down at the switchblade in his hand, he gently turned it around in his palm so the light caught the engraving of his surname. Richie could tell that his father caught the movement, as brief as it was. “Do you know what happened to Georgie Denbrough?” The question was abrupt, his _tone_ was abrupt. And judging by the way Wentworth balked in Richie’s peripheral, he wasn’t expecting that question.  
  
“Zack and Sharon’s youngest?” His voice was hushed as he asked the question, he didn’t wait for Richie to nod in confirmation. “Of course I know what happened to the poor boy.” Richie glanced up at him, expectantly. His father seemed to pale considerably under the gaze. “Boy’s arm was ripped clean off by a wolf or a bear, wasn’t it? His family was grief stricken.”  
  
A cloud passed over the sun, Richie was certain there would be a heavy snowfall today. “Right.” He croaked out, immediately wincing at the dry sound. The bespectacled teen cleared his throat, and glanced up at his Dad - who was staring at him with hesitance, and maybe a bit of fear. “ _Right._  That’s right.”  
  
Wentworth was silent, for a moment. A moment long enough that Richie internally decided that, no, his father didn’t know all of the secrets of this town as he had suspected. He thinks Sonia is whacked out just like everyone else in this town does; there’s no way he knows what goes on inside of the Marsh household, or what really happened to Georgie Denbrough... or the way he sees Eddie Kaspbrak. “Is there something on your mind, Rich?”  
  
“Nothin’ you hafta worry ‘bout Pops.” Richie croaked out, his voice thick from the early morning chain smoking. He let a goofy grin, however fake it was, spread across his face. “Justa bit of teenage angst, eh?”  
  
Wentworth nodded, though even Richie could tell it was disbelievingly. The older man huffed out a laugh, and slapped his hands down on the tops of his thighs - the sudden noise caused Richie to jump minutely. “Angst about anything in particular?” Richie felt bad, truly he did. His father was trying - _really trying._    
  
He needed another cigarette.  
  
Wentworth was frowning as he watched his son’s trembling fingers pull out his fifth cigarette of the morning, and light it with a match in a way so practiced that he wasn’t sure who of the two of them would end up with lung cancer _first_ . His blue eyes, surrounded by large purple bags that only seemed magnified behind his coke bottle glasses, darted back and forth as he took a long drag from his cigarette and let the smoke blow out of his nose. “I have this friend.” He croaked, his voice heavy from the tobacco. “A while back he realized something about himself.” Richie’s nose twitched, he tapped his cigarette against his knee. “He’s dated plenty of girls, liked even more - _y’know_? He’s never been a...”  
  
The older Tozier was deathly silent as Richie struggled to the find the word, his hands gesturing a bit helplessly in front of him. “A homosexual.” He looked up at his dad, his eyes pleading as he said the word. “But there’s this guy... this real nice looking fella, dorkier than anything else but _cute_. I... _He’s started to take a liking to him.”_    
  
Richie took another, slower drag from his cigarette, a smile teased at the corners of his mouth. “Well, I wouldn’t say he’s started to, I guess. More so that he _realized_ he’s taken a liking to him.”  
  
Wentworth nodded, slowly, he was avoiding Richie’s eyes as much as the teen was his.  
  
“This wouldn’t happen to involve Bill Denbrough, would it?” Wentworth asked, gently. As if he was nervous about Richie’s reaction. The teen barked out a laugh, shaking his head no. Though thinking back on it, it _may_ have involved Bill. For both him and Eddie, at some point. To his credit, Wentworth tried to look just as humored by the assumption as Richie was. “Doesn’t sound like much of a predicament to me.” And _that_ , took Richie off guard. His cigarette dropped from his fingertips atop the others as he whipped his head around to stare at his father, who was smiling at him - not unkindly. “It’s certainly not an unheard of concept, the one you’re dealing with,”  
  
“You would know that if you paid more attention in history class.” Playfully, Wentworth nudged his son’s shoulder.  
  
The older man glanced back across the yard, the sun now high enough that the snow on the ground was starting to melt - turning the formerly white powder colored yard into a muddy brown mess. His dark hair, thinning and messy atop his head was blown back by the sudden gust of cold winter wind. Richie noticed then, how similar he looked to his father. When the man looked so unbothered, almost carefree.  
  
“You don’t... think it’s weird?” Richie asked, quietly. He maintained a steady voice, but he wasn’t sure how long he was going to be able to keep that up.  
  
“Weird?” Wentworth tilted his head, contemplatively. His lower lip jutted out as he ran over the word in his head. “ _Eh_ \- maybe it is weird. I guess I wouldn’t be one to judge.” He glanced over at Richie, amused. “One of my friends has the exact same problem.”  
  
Richie’s breath caught in his chest, at the inflection in his father’s voice and the implication of his words. He briefly wondered then, if it hadn’t been for the threat of his mother leaving him - would his father have ever told him any of this? Would he have attempted to ease his troubled mind, and successfully make Richie feel better about himself had it not been for his mother asking him to be more attentive of the two of them? As his father looked over at him, and winked, he decided that _no_ \- the man wouldn’t have disclosed any of this to his son.  
  
Richie hummed, finally wiping the gobsmacked look off of his face to flip his switchblade in the air to catch it in his opened palm. “ _Ah say Pops ah say_... If I didn’t know no betta’ I’d say this friend you’re tawkin’ bout isn’t real.”  
  
“Brave makin’ ‘ssumptions like that in Derry, Maine boy.” His father’s Foghorn Leghorn wasn’t nearly as practiced as Richie’s was - a giggle erupted from his mouth regardless. He stifled his laughing behind his palm, but he didn’t really need to. Not with the loud barks of laughter his father let out beside him.  
  
Wentworth grabbed a smoke from Richie’s pack of Winston’s as their laughter tapered away into quiet chuckling, and he snagged a match from his own robe pocket to light the thing. He glanced up at Richie from the corner of his eye as his palm cupped around the cigarette he was attempting to light. “I take it that means you’ve decided where you’re going after high school?”  
  
The teen shrugged, brushing a strand of curly brown hair from his eyes as he let his eyes stray towards the front yard. “Depends on if Eds...” He paused, and peeked at his dad - who idly smoked his cigarette, seemingly unsurprised by the confession. “If Eds still wants me to go.”  
  
His father had his cigarette pinched between his lips as he shrugged. “Unless you’re planning on getting extremely detailed with me, which I suggest you _not.”_ Wentworth sent his son a look. “That’s something you need to figure out yourself. That’s the same advice your Grandfather gave me about your mom.” He smiled then, sadly. “Despite the downs, and there were a lot of them... I’d like to call me and your Ma a success story.”  
  
“Well, you got me out of it.” Richie added, a crooked smile worming it’s way onto his face. “So you got at least, _one_ success.”  
  
“Smart ass.” His father gruffed out, a smirk on the mouth that blew out a stream of smoke into the significantly warmer atmosphere. He coughed then, looking a bit sentimental as he turned his vision from the rising sun to his own son. “You are.”

Richie hummed, questioningly and looked at his father - who looked sheepish as he adjusted his spectacles on his nose. “A success.”

+

 

“Surpassing the tonic tonight, are we?” Johnny Wilson asked, his eyes filled with mirth as he watched Richie fill a glass nearly to the brim with gin, without an ice cube or a slice of lime in sight. The radio show host settled an amused glare on his manager as he took a sip from his drink, the burn down his throat a pleasing distraction from the aching headache that formed shortly after Eddie Kaspbrak was escorted from the station. A headache that the likes of tylenol couldn’t even fix.

“Be glad I’m not drinking out of the bottle.” Richie set the glass onto his marble countertop, which was currently doing an outstanding job of keeping Johnny a table’s length away from him. The man became _touchy_ when he drank, and he was already on his third beer. “Yet.”

He didn’t love inviting Wilson to his home to share a drink, but his options were limited. It was either; go to the other man’s house when he insisted upon a shared drink after work, or convince the man that they should go to his house for a drink. Johnny’s house was lavish and _large_ , much like the man himself. Richie, while not the man to shy away from the niceties of having money, found Johnny’s investment choices a bit outrageous. Everything he owned had all of the tacky boldness of a middle aged man who was overcompensating for something.

His house, while also ridiculously overpriced (what else can you expect in Beverly Hills) was modest in comparison to Johnny’s. And Richie was just more comfortable in his own home than surrounded by the walls of a house decked out in Playboy bunny posters - all of which had women that were half of Wilson’s age on them.

Regardless, he was hoping Johnny wouldn’t overstay his welcome. Take a hint and get the fuck out instead of lingering around sipping beers while Richie complained about his headache and his general exhaustion. Most of which could be blamed on his addled memory that seemed to strain every time he exercised it for something as simple as, remembering where he keeps his lighter. Pulling out his cigarettes was, typically, a no brainer. Ever since that Kaspbrak guy showed up, it felt as if his own mind was both working _against_ him and working _for_ him.

His memory was tearing itself apart from the inside out, every time he thought he was remembering the supposed friend from college - he was met with another wave of fog and confusion.

It didn’t help that his coping tendencies relied heavily on self destructiveness.

Never mind seeking out the man and trying to recover the missing memories, numb the headache with a swig of alcohol! _The soon to be alcoholic with early signs of Alzheimer's_ , he smirked around his glass at that, he should make a voice out of that. _Jesus_ , if he remembered to.

“You’re looking worse for wear, Rich.” Johnny commented, seemingly only just noticing the unusual silence of the man he managed. His eyes looked beady as they scanned across the gin-tipsy comedian. “That Kaspbrak guy got you down?”

“Something like that…” Richie grumbled into his glass, swirling the beverage around with nimble fingers.

Johnny was looking at him, contemplatively. His brow arched so high that it nearly disappeared into his cowboy hat. The man leaned forward on the counter, one elbow propped against it as he pointed a finger in Richie’s face - the brunet tried not to scowl and back away from the meaty red hand covered in gaudy looking rings only centimeters away from him. “I know what your problem is, Rich.” And oh, _this outta be good. “_ You haven’t gotten laid since you broke things off with Cheryl.”

Richie balked, he nudged Wilson’s hand from his face to get a better view of the man talking to him. He set the glass, now nearly empty, down on his countertop. “ _Christ_ Wilson, is sex the only thing that goes through that cowboy hat of yours?” His manager didn’t even have the gall to look ashamed. “And her name was _Carol_. Look - I’m sure you mean well,” Richie actually _wasn’t_ sure of that, but the last thing he needed was a tipsy Johnny Wilson getting offended. “But one night stands aren’t exactly my forte. And the last time I had a committed relationship that was healthy was…”

He trailed off, his eyebrows pinching together as he once again strained his memory for even the briefest remembrance of an, even mildly, successful relationship. _It was briefly, after high school._

He huffed out a laugh, and took a slow sip from his glass. “Well, it’s been a while. Let’s leave it at that.”

To his credit, Johnny only looked slightly put out by that admission. He scoffed at Richie as he nursed his dwindling beer. “Damn right it’s been a while. I’m the only company you’ve had in the last few months.” Wilson huffed into his bottle. “And we haven’t even slept together.”

Richie figured that now was as good a time as any for Johnny to hit the road. Tipsy Johnny was one thing, Horny and Drunk Johnny was an entirely different thing. “I think it’s time you called a cab, bud.” Richie nodded his head towards the door, his eyebrows arching.

His manager gruffed, taking another sip from his beer as he stood up from the barstool behind Richie’s island countertop. “Ehh… you’re turning into a prude, Tozier.” He belched, and Richie tried not to jump at the abrupt sound. Wilson laughed then, taking off his cowboy hat and displaying his balding blond head. “Call me when you’re missing Crystal, got it?”

The radio star didn’t bother hiding his grimace, and he didn’t bother with walking Johnny out the door either - but he did make sure to lock it behind the man after he walked (stumbled) away from his home. It was a burden, working with Johnny. But the man was notoriously one of the best managers in the business - and he took a liking to Richie very early on in his career, which definitely boosted Rich Records to the level of stardom he had, and the stardom that he was gaining every single day. He tried not to let it bother him, that a man pushing 50 was so intent on harassing him in and out of the workplace but he had made sacrifices for his career before.

 _Sacrifices,_ that word bounced around his head as he refilled his glass of gin - this time adding tonic, as to not end up wasted all night and waking up on his couch at eleven o’clock in the morning with a hangover worse than the headache pounding at his skull now.

Eddie Kaspbrak’s name floated around in his mind alongside the word, and he could faintly, _faintly_ hear a high pitched and very snide voice; “ _How many times have I asked you_ not _to call me Eds, Richie?”_

And his own reply; “ _Too many times to count my love, I’m surprised you haven’t grown tired of it by now._ ”

A more pressing memory, was of a pair of clean hands playing with his larger - dirtier, always dirtier, fingers. Sad, watery honey eyes staring up at him. “ _You’re leaving?_ ” The light voice asked, deeper now - _adult_ . “ _But… what about the comedy clubs? I thought you said-”_

 _“I know, I know.”_ His own voice sighed back, and it was crystal clear - the way the smaller man’s eyes fluttered shut to hide the onset of what must have been tears attempting to spill out across his cheeks. “ _This is the deal of a lifetime, Eds. I’m never going to do anything worthwhile if I don’t make_ sacrifices _… besides,_ ” He remembered taking a shaky breath. “ _The minute I become a famous radio star - I’ll fly you out to Cali to live in my mansion. You’ll be the designated mechanic for the rich and famous._ ”

Sifting through the boxes of his old, unpacked belongings was becoming tedious. Especially with a gin and tonic addled mind and the dust that floated through the air and clouded the attic around him. But he was positive he still had it. It’s not like he would have thrown away his senior yearbook, or donated it to some mook in Beverly Hills.

What would they do with a ten year old yearbook from the practically unheard town of Derry?

It was in a box labeled; _1965_ that he found Eddie Kaspbrak. Not the _literal_ Eddie Kaspbrak, but the version of Eddie that his memories had stored so deep that the hypochondriac disappeared. The only things left in that box, were the belongings Richie had taken from Derry when he left in 1965 that he never unpacked. A few old comics, a lighter that probably used to belong to his dad (a testament to the smoking problem that killed his father two years ago), an aspirator (Richie didn’t remember ever having asthma, but hell, it’s not as if his memory was to be trusted), a poster for _I Was a Teenage Werewolf_ and of course - the dusty, water damaged yearbook from Derry High School. 

Richie plopped down on the ground, gin splashed over the sides of his glass and fell in large drops onto the hardwood floor below him. Perhaps he was tipsier than he thought, he took another sip from his glass regardless.

Most of the yearbook’s pages were stuck together, damaged from the years of being inside of a poorly kept box and a highly neglected attic. 

Not many children went to Derry High, Richie could remember that much. The town was _small_ \- and the kids who lived in Derry all knew each other by name. That being said, as he flipped through the pages of high schoolers he felt like he was seeing most of them for the first time.

Here and there he would recognize a face; Bill Denbrough was one that he was certain he knew. Richie was a bit frustrated he couldn’t remember more about the upcoming horror novelist that he supposedly attended high school with. _Eh,_  Richie shrugged to himself as he peeled away another page, _must not have been that close anyways - haven’t seen the guy in years._

Most of the pages were incredibly damaged, and Richie was disappointed to find that the high schoolers with last names beginning in H-O were completely illegible.

It seemed unfair, certainly, that Richie’s memory had turned against him and the small amount of belongings he had that could jog that memory weren’t quite working _for_ him. He slammed the book shut in frustration, and tossed it so it slid across the floor and tumbled down the staircase he had to climb up to reach the attic. Sighing heavily - he downed the rest of his alcohol and stood on shaky, drunk heavy legs.

He shouldn’t be so frustrated by this. _So what,_ he can’t remember some guy he lived with in his early twenties? _So what_ , he can’t remember going to school in Derry at all? _So what,_  he’s showing signs of early on-set Alzheimer’s disease? Things could be worse, he could be sleeping with Johnny Wilson.

Richie giggled, and it came out sounding more like a drunk happy hiccup as he trudged his way towards the bottom of the staircase; both hands holding the railing tightly as his knees swayed unsteadily beneath him. His high school yearbook sat on the ground below the staircase, opened wide and displaying the proud few signatures he had accumulated from the people unlucky enough to be friends with him. When he reached the bottom of the steps he leaned down the grab the yearbook, maybe it was time to throw the damn thing outside and let the garbage truck pick it up. It’s not like he had any use for it. 

He dropped the book when a wall rattling knock on his front door interrupted his thoughts of giving the yearbook away to one of his overly devoted listeners.

“ _Christ_.” Richie groaned. He hoped to God that Wilson wasn’t back after an unsuccessful attempt at calling a cab to come pick him up. As drunk as he was, he was certain that he wasn’t in the mood for taking responsibility over Johnny. A drunk man babysitting an even drunker man sounded less than ideal.

“ _Richie!_ ” That voice, did not belong to Johnny Wilson. Richie’s ears perked, he started to slowly walk towards the front door. “ _Open the fucking door, Tozier!_ I’m not above knocking on your door all night!”

The response came naturally, effortlessly to him. Richie leaned against the closed front door, a grin spreading across his face as he gently knocked back. “You got the magic word, Eds?” He asked, his voice was teasing and his knuckles were rapping to the beat of _Peggy Sue._  “I’ll give you a hint, it begins with F, and it _ends_ with-”

“God dammit Richie.” Eddie’s voice sounded throaty, but no less aggravated. “Let me in.”

How Richie was so sure that Eddie barely looked any different, he didn’t know. But when he saw the man, for the first time in what had to be at least five years, he was sure that he remembered everything about him.

“Eddie my love,” He started, his heart pounding in his chest. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Strong start from the man who kicked me out of his station six hours ago.” The amused twinkle in his honey colored eyes gave him away. It was then, that Richie noticed the jacket Eddie was wearing. A red and white letterman, with an RT stitched into the chest. Eddie’s eyes followed his, and he gently tugged on the jacket he wore with a widening grin. “Jog your memory?”

For the first time that night, the answer to that question was _yes._

 +

 

Fresh on the heels of a sexuality awakening, Richie couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a creep hiding in the locker room showers waiting for Eddie Kaspbrak to find the note he slid between the openings in his locker. Had it been a month ago, Richie would have no problem lurking around the boy’s locker room waiting for his best friend - but unfortunately, his insecurities were getting the best of him.

He was beginning to feel like he had a neon sign displayed directly over his head that read; “ _I like boys! I like kissing Eddie Kaspbrak! Feel free to call me a queer and punch me in my extremely punchable face if you just so please!_ ”

Granted, this wasn’t the most convenient way to have his first conversation with Eddie since the teen macked on him in front of Sonia Kaspbrak’s house. But this wasn’t the first time since Richie got back from Denver that he was attempting to talk to Eddie, face to face. Richie was oblivious sometimes, sure, but he knew when he was being avoided. It felt unfair, in Richie’s eyes, that he was the one with an unexpected kiss planted on him out of nowhere and _he’s_ the one being avoided like a plague.

Richie had his entire body slumped against the brick wall behind him, staring with intensity at the curtain that blocked him from sight, when a pair of sneakers that were far too dingy and old to belong to Eddie Kaspbrak hesitated in front of the stall he was hiding in. The teen huffed out an agitated breath, and slowly peeled back the curtain to be met with the coy face of a sophomore decked out in athletic wear. “ _May I help you?”_  He asked, quietly - but with enough annoyance in his voice to get the point across to the little shit that he was being inconvenienced.

“Your boyfriend told me to bring this to you.” The teen held out a sticky note, much like the one Richie found with his knife on New Years. He looked smug as he held the note out, which is why Richie had no qualms about snatching it from his hand.

‘ _You need to go back to class._ ’

 “For cripes sake…” Richie grumbled, crumbling the note and tossing it behind his shoulder into the stale puddles of water resting idly atop the moss covered tile. This sending notes back and forth business was starting to feel very kindergarten, they were one signed heart away from turning gym class into _recess_. “Just tell him to get over here. I’ve been waiting in here for half an hour now and it stinks like shit.”

Shit was a bit of an understatement, it smelled like a mix of rotting pipes and teenagers who hadn’t heard of the invention of soap.

“And what makes you think I’m your personal messenger?” _Oh man,_ Richie just _wasn’t_ in the mood for getting attitude from a sixteen year old today.

“ _Would you just get him over here without the coaches finding out?_ ” He hissed. Sweat was starting to make his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose, and he was silently praying that his brown curls weren’t frizzing in the humidity. 

“You have any money?”

Two dollars and three quarters later, and the smug faced brat gave a cocky little wink and made his way towards the lockers with the confident swagger of someone who just scammed some money off of an eighteen year old punk hiding in a shower stall. Richie hoped to God this kid would pull through, he wasn’t thrilled about losing the remainder of his Christmas money.

He was contemplating getting an after school job at the Aladdin when Eddie yanked the curtain back and slid his way into the stall that Richie was backed up into. One of his pristine white sneakers splashed into the dirty moss puddle on the ground, and Eddie’s nose turned up in disgust. “You couldn’t have picked a nicer place to skip class?” The brunet pawed at the front pocket of his gym shorts for the aspirator that was sure to be in that pocket. “It’s disgusting in here… I’m starting to think my Ma was onto something when she tried to make me skip gym.”

“ _Excuse me, princess_.” Richie grumbled, his eyes narrowed from behind large frames. “But if it were up to _me_ we wouldn’t be doing this at school in the first place.”

Eddie, to his credit, looked guilty.

Focusing on the guilt that washed over his face was easier for Richie than focusing on how cute Eddie looked in his high school gym uniform - or how this was the first time he and Eddie had been face to face since they kissed. Those sorts of things weren’t easy to keep your mind off of.

“So hey,” Richie started, clearing his throat a bit awkwardly as he did. He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the switchblade that had his name engraved in the side, Eddie flinched at the sight of it. “Any reason you broke into my house while I was out of town to give this back to me?”

“I hardly broke into your house, your window was wide _open_.” Eddie paused, his eyes were shifting back and forth from the shower curtain to the boy in front of him. His shoulders were squared into a tense, tight line. Richie didn’t think he was faring much better - he felt sweat prickling up on the back of his neck every time Eddie glanced up at him. “Obviously, I thought you wouldn’t want me to have it anymore.”

There was a heavy awkwardness lingering between them, and a large part of Richie wanted to stay within the comfortable inability to speak to one another.

A _larger_ part of Richie felt nauseated by the thought of losing one of his best friends over… _this_. He rocked back on his heels, and held the knife out with trembling fingers. “Yur puttin’ words int’ my mouth Kaspbrak.” The blue eyed teen waved the blade under Eddie’s nose. “If I didn’ know no bettur I’d say yur tryna get rid ‘f me.”

Eddie’s wide brown eyes snapped up to Richie’s, alarm in his gaze. Under the fluorescent lights of the locker room, his honey colored eyes seemed to glow, duller and grayer. “I’m… _what_ _?_ ”

The shrill call of a whistle echoed throughout the lockers, followed by the gruff shouting of Coach Trenton telling the students to get off of their asses and get outside. The high schoolers groaned in unison - another gym class trekking around wearing shorts in the knee deep snow. Precisely the reason Richie skipped gym class every chance he got. Eddie, on the other hand, sent him a panicked look. “I have to get to class Richie, Coach Trenton is going to notice if I’m not there.” That was _highly_ unlikely.

“Just take the fucking knife.” Richie shoved the closed blade against Eddie’s chest, hoping his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

“I don’t understand.” Eddie whispered, taking the knife and holding it in his palm as if he was expecting Richie to come to his senses and snatch it back the first chance he got. “I… I _kissed_ you.” Eddie swallowed roughly as he said that, looking up at Richie with a quivering lower lip. And that, that’s how Richie knew he couldn’t be upset with the asthmatic for avoiding him. “Without… _consulting_ you first, or explaining myself or…” He blinked roughly, and if this were any other conversation - Richie would be confident in wrapping his arms around his best friend and comforting him.

Guiltily, he stood motionless with his hands shoved in his front pockets. “I kiss you without your permission all of the time, Eds.”

The hypochondriac stiffened, and Richie was momentarily positive that he had crossed a line of sorts. That is, until the shorter teen snorted into his palm. “God dammit, Rich.” The boy giggled, and the genuine amusement in his honey eyes sent a chill of excitement up Richie’s spine. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“You’re the genius in this relationship, my love.” It felt natural, everything about _this_ felt natural. “ _Haven’t you kept count_?”

The whistle blew again, farther away but still just as ear splitting as the first time. Eddie glanced worriedly out of the curtain, the blade trembling atop his opened palm had yet to be pocketed. “So you… what?” He asked, hurriedly - fear ever present in his shaky voice. “Just don’t care that I’m gay?”

Richie wouldn’t say he didn’t _care_ that Eddie was gay, he cared alright. Likely not in the way his asthmatic best friend meant.

“Why would I care?” Richie shrugged a shoulder, lazily. “I’m too busy being offended by your expectation that I’m just like the other dimwits in this town.”

Eddie cast him an unimpressed look. “It’s not that I think you hate gay people.” He shifted uneasily where he stood. “I just thought that because of what I _did_ … you wouldn’t want…”

He trailed off, his nose wrinkled cutely and his eyes scanning the tiled floor in front of them. Richie doubted looking into the moss for an answer would be of any help. The brunet tipped his head back and huffed out an agitated breath. “I didn’t think you would want to spend any time around me. Not even mentioning _college_ …” He looked tired, frustrated. He thought about this a lot, Richie could tell. “Most men wouldn’t want to live in some shitty New York apartment with their gay friend.” 

“I’m not most men.”

“Don’t I know it.” The hypochondriac grumbled, and whether that was supposed to be taken as an insult or a compliment - Richie wasn’t too sure. Eddie huffed again, and this time gave a hesitant smile to the taller man in front of him. “So, nothing’s changed?”

“Not a _damn thing_ , Spaghetti.” Richie ignored the hurt building in his chest, he _ignored_ it. “The Teenage Werewolf and Norman Bates have faced things way scarier than _homosexuality_.” The bespectacled eighteen year let his voice drop spookily on the last word, waving his fingers in front of his face to enhance the effect.

Eddie rolled his eyes, leaning forward to shove Richie’s hands out of his face. “Debatable.”

The locker rooms were deathly quiet, which meant that everyone had left. Eddie would have a hell of a time sneaking into the group of students and pretending he was there the entire time but Richie had full faith that he could manage. Either that, or he would opt out entirely and fake an asthma attack to sit in the nurse’s office. Wouldn’t be the first time Eddie Kaspbrak faked an asthma attack to get out of gym class. The slow plopping of water against the disgusting floor beneath Richie’s sopping wet shoes reminded him, vaguely, _so vaguely_ \- of a time years ago, when he and Eddie were in a place much grosser than the school locker rooms. 

The steady drip of greywater an unforgettable sound in the front of his mind.

“The Teenage Werewolf has nothing on you, Richie Tozier.” Eddie didn’t break eye contact as he said it, a smile gracing his features beautifully. He yanked the curtain open and began to walk away from the showers. “I need to get back before Coach Trenton calls Ma, and we _both_ know how that would turn out.”

Richie grabbed Eddie’s arm and turned him around, the confidence that the smaller teen wore faded within a mere second - replaced with the look of a gobsmacked man. “Norman Bates has nothing on you, Eddie Kaspbrak.” He pressed a kiss to the boy’s cheek, not missing the sharp intake of breath from his best friend as he did it. Richie backed away with a teasing grin, his blue eyes twinkling behind magnified frames, still pinching the fabric of Eddie’s tee shirt between his fingertips. “Confidence is a good look on you, Eds.”

Richie didn’t think he had ever seen Eddie smile at him as softly and genuinely until that very moment.

Conspiratorially, the asthmatic leaned in to whisper; “ _I’ve heard liberation can do that to a person.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this took longer than anticipated to post, and yes i broke the last chapter up into two parts. i felt it would be a confusing read if i crammed everything i wanted to into the very last chapter. leave comments, im going to start replying to them, pinky swear.


	4. Chapter 4

Richie’s shoes squeaked with every step he took on the tiled department store floor. The snow outside had begun to melt, leaving behind a sopping wet and slippery sidewalk that soaked through Richie’s Keds on his walk to Freese’s. The employees (most of which were an assorted array of teenagers he went to school with) weren’t galvanized that he was trekking puddles throughout the store that they would indubitably have to clean up.

The date was Valentine’s Day, although, that information wouldn’t come as a surprise to any of the patrons waltzing through Freese’s. All of whom were immediately greeted with gaudy red and pink decorations, half priced flowers and huge heart shaped boxes of chocolate. Despite the huge display of excitement on Freese’s part for the holiday centered around romance, Valentine’s Day wasn’t as widely celebrated in Derry, Maine as Halloween was. In fact, Freese’s was probably the _only_ place in town who gave this much of a shit about Valentine’s Day.

Richie had a feeling that it was more of a quick department store money grab than an actual interest in the holiday.

His suspicions were instantly confirmed when he spotted a werewolf mask, repainted pink and repurposed from the Halloween merchandise it had once been, to be sold on Valentine’s Day. He snickered at the sight of it - _not so scary now, huh_?

Richie tucked the mask under his arm and kept walking, the stupid mask was _ridiculously_ underpriced and he planned on keeping it for ironic value. Besides, he was only at Freese’s because he had nowhere else to go. His parents were back to normal, as far as he could tell. At least, they were normal enough that they wanted to spend their Valentine’s Day at home alone, _without Richie there_ , together.

As for his friends, they were all busy for what seemed like the millionth time this year. Each one of them was paired off with another Loser for the holiday; aside from Bill, who was spending the day with his soon to be girlfriend Cindy Nettles, and Eddie, who Richie couldn’t get ahold of.

Richie tried not to let it eat away at him, the insecure nagging in the back of his mind that Eddie may be ignoring him.

Granted, he hadn’t even attempted to break into Eddie’s bedroom in months. The action seemed a little too intimate now, a little more like something a boyfriend would do and less like something a best friend and future roommate would do. That being said, the lack of Eddie in his life couldn’t entirely be blamed on his unwillingness to break into the asthmatic’s house.

The squeaking of Richie’s shoes halted as he stopped in front of a display decorated with bouquets of red roses. Every bouquet was overpriced, but that didn’t stop Richie from briefly entertaining the idea of actually buying one. He imagined Eddie wouldn’t be thrilled that he spent so much money on something so meaningless. “ _My allergies are terrible, Richie. I’m going to be sneezing for a month because of you_.”

He cracked a smile as his fingers gently brushed over the rose petals.

“Sir, are you planning on buying those?”

His head jerked towards the voice, which belonged to an employee who had a mop slung over her shoulder. Clearly on her way towards the puddles of water Richie left behind with his wet shoes. Like every other employee in the store, he recognized her from school. Donna Wilson; a blonde who’s most defining feature was the, what seemed to be, permanent smearing of pink gloss across her lips. Guiltily, he pulled his hand back from touching the flowers and shot her an apologetic smile.

“Nah, just seeing what the buzz around these things are.” He held up his hand, the tip of his pointer finger slowly trickled blood - a side effect of accidentally pricking it on a rose’s thorn. “Gotta say, I’m a little disappointed.”

Donna’s face wrinkled at the sight of the blood, which was now making a path down the middle of Richie’s palm towards his wrist. “That’s disgusting.”

Richie had been called worse. “Ehh... c’est la vie.”

The blonde gave him a funny look, and with her mop - gestured towards the back exit. The same one Richie had become extremely familiar with back when Henry Bowers was still wreaking havoc throughout Derry. “If my manager finds you in here bleeding all over the floor he’ll have a cow.” Richie never quite liked that figure of speech, _have a cow_. What the fuck did that mean anyways? Farmer lingo, maybe? Donna tossed him a handkerchief, one that was previously tucked away in her pocket. “Besides, he’ll be happy to see _that_ hideous thing gone.”

Richie didn’t have to see where her eyes drifted to know she was talking about the werewolf mask tucked under his arm. He smiled coyly and held it out so he could look into the mask’s dead eyes. “She doesn’t mean it, boy.” He cooed, gently stroking the top of it’s plastic head with the palm that wasn’t covered in blood. “You’re only hideous on the _outside_.”

“Get out of my store, Tozier.”

“ _Roger that._ ” Richie mockingly saluted the high schooler - he hadn’t ever been the type of person to look a gift horse in the mouth. And if the gift horse just so happened to be a disgustingly tacky werewolf mask with chipping pink paint around the faux maw, then so be it.

Running into Eddie Kaspbrak was an inevitability, one that Richie knew was guaranteed to happen before he even opened the rusting door that led into the alleyway behind Freese’s and spotted the teen sitting with his legs underneath him atop a crate. Though, the cigarette pinched between his fingers was a surprise - as was Stan Uris, seated on the concrete next to the crate looking thoroughly disgusted.

“Am I dreaming?” Richie cooed, as the door slammed behind him. He leaned his entire weight on it and fanned his face, dramatically. “Or did I stumble upon the two loves of my life on Valentine’s Day, sharing a cigarette?”

“We aren’t sharing anything.” Stan objected, and then his nose wrinkled at the sly grin Richie shot him. “ _Including_ you. Eddie can have you all to himself.”

“ _Aw Stan.”_ Eddie grumbled, his eyes were hyper focused on the cigarette - slowly burning away in between his fingertips. “Don’t be so generous.”

There was tension in the air, it was _obvious._ It seemed tense every time Eddie and Richie were in the same room with one another, and the other Losers could tell. As oblivious as Richie tended to be, he didn’t ever miss the worried glances between Ben and Mike. Or the tension breaking teasing that came from Beverly and Bill. Stan, on the other hand, wasn’t one to mince words. Stan was the type to flat out ask what was going on between Richie and Eddie - which is a part of the reason Richie hadn’t tried nearly as hard as he usually would to spend all of his time around his friends. _Eventually_ , the tension would break.

Frankly, he wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing - _yet_. It sure didn’t seem like he was going to have any more time to mull it over.

“You gonna let me in on why you’re…” Richie gestured vaguely towards the cigarette Eddie was still holding, several inches away from his face. “ _Not_ … smoking?”

In his defense, Eddie looked bashful as his eyes darted from the smoke he was holding and Richie’s curious face. “I just wanted to see if I _could_.” He stared at the cigarette again, and with a huff stamped it out against the makeshift chair he was sitting on. “Problem solved, I guess.”

Stan mumbled out a quiet, “ _Thank God._ ” That energy was shared by Richie, judging by the rush of relief he felt seeing the untouched cigarette ashes spread across the crate.

The only thing stopping Richie from asking _how_ exactly his best friends got to this position, was the fear in his chest he was blatantly ignoring. Getting in touch with Eddie had been hell ever since Christmas, and that hadn’t changed after they talked in the gym locker rooms. What Richie tried to convince himself, though none of the other Losers mentioned Eddie’s sudden disappearance, is that he wasn’t the _only one_ being ignored by Eddie. The longer he examined the situation in front of him, the more he suspected that he was wrong in thinking the Losers’ were in the same boat he was.

Stan stood up, brushing the dirt off of his usually spotless khaki pants. His eye twinkled amusedly at Richie. “Not that I don’t love sitting by the dumpsters, but I promised Mike I would be at the Aladdin...” He looked down at his wristwatch, too pristine and fancy for the cinema, but perfect for Stan Uris. The curly haired brunet grimaced, and dropped his wrist against his side limply. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

  
“ _Fifteen minutes?_ You have a death wish, Uris.”   
  
Without so much as acknowledging Richie, Stan cast his eyes down towards Eddie - his expression becoming the slightest bit softer. “Keep him in line, would you Eddie?”   
  
The asthmatic nodded, and in the look they shared - Richie knew there was something they were hiding from him. It didn’t concern him too much, he would get it out of them eventually. Stan pushed open the wooden fence that blocked off the alley hidden in between the two buildings, the loud groan the hinges made causing all three teens to shiver. Richie is sure he would prefer to hear nails on a chalkboard over that, any day of the week. As the fence creaked shut, Richie made sure to yell one last, “ _Have fun on your date!”_ _  
_   
He didn’t plan on looking into the hypocrisy of it all.   
  
“Why do you insist on pissing him off?” Eddie asked, exasperated. That was a good sign, exasperated Eddie was a hop and a skip away from amused Eddie.   
  
The wind whipped in between the buildings, fast paced and freezing cold. Exactly the same as every other February in Derry, Maine. Richie pulled his windbreaker, not nearly hefty enough in the cold air, around his body tighter - and crouched down on the ground next to Eddie. With the asthmatic atop the crate, Richie could stay just out of the way of the ever moving breeze. Just enough to stay warm. Eddie noticed, and huffed. Just as Richie predicted, an amused Eddie is never too far away when they’re together.   
  
“I didn’t get the invite to this bout of teenage rebellion.” Richie nodded towards the carton of cigarettes, still clutched loosely in Eddie’s hand. “You letting Stan take my place?” There was laughter in Richie’s voice, and he didn’t let Eddie respond before adding, “That’s actually a damn good idea Eds, I’ve heard ol’ Mrs. K say some real nasty things about him. A proper Adolf spiel, if you ask me.”   
  
The brunet smiled, with his head tilted backwards leaning against the bricks - his dark locks, which were longer than he had ever let them grow, whipped around in the wind. The tip of his nose was bright red, and under the overcast sky, his eyes were shining. Richie shifted on the concrete, quietly, and ignored the unsteady pounding of his heart. “Stan found me buying these.” Eddie waved the pack of cigarettes in Richie’s face without looking down at him, the bespectacled teen grabbed the pack and set them in his lap. “Think he thought I lost my marbles. Especially after I told him I tossed my aspirator.”   
  
Richie glanced at his best friend in shock, his eyes wide behind his spectacles. “Well why would you go and do a thing like that?”   
  
He closed his eyes, and from Richie’s position on the ground he could see that Eddie’s lips were pinched together. With a trembling breath, the teen exhaled and opened his eyes. “It was never real, Richie.” He spoke quietly, his words so gentle and small that in the constant breeze they almost drifted away. “The medicine, the sicknesses. I’ve always known, my Ma has always known... I know you guys have always known.”   
  
With a bitter laugh, Eddie tilted his head down, the angst and hurt written across his face slowly became easier to read. “Even _Keene_ knew.” His nose wrinkled, and for what seemed like the first time that day, Eddie really looked at him. “I’m really... I’m really _fucked up_. And truthfully, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore. I’m trying so hard to be someone I’m not, but I don’t know who I am. _Not really._ She took that from me.”   
  
Richie was at a loss for words, staring brokenly up at Eddie as the teen spilled his heart in a way that was so honest and open that Richie didn’t know if he _could_ respond. Richie Tozier, the man of 1000 voices, didn’t have a damn voice.   
  
“You were wrong about me.” Eddie closed his eyes again, his composure clearly wearing thin. “I’m not better than I think I am. I’m _exactly_ what I think I am.”   
  
“ _Fuck_ what you think you are.” Richie’s voice shook, his hand reached out blindly and grasped Eddie’s - twining their fingers together in a tight bond. The brunet’s eyes snapped open, and he looked down at Richie with huge eyes - his face slowly reddening. “You want to know what _I_ think of you?”   
  
Eddie’s breath was coming short, short enough that it was starting to sound like a wheeze. Which, asthma or not, was worrisome to Richie. Old habits die hard, after all.   
  
“You’re the bravest person I know, Eds.” It was hard, doing this without a voice - without a joke. Staring Eddie right in the eyes as he spoke. For once, Richie thought he could be serious. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re a total nerd. But it’s _cute_ , I mean it when I say that, always have.” The brunet’s hand twitched in his, mouth floundering - _cutely_. “I think you’re... pretty fucking cool.“   
  
Richie glanced away, his eyes unable to keep eye contact any longer with the nervous energy coursing through him. “All of us do. Even Stan, although he _would_ have found you _less_ cool if you had actually smoked one of these things.”   
  
It was quiet, not long enough for Richie to know he had overstepped, but not short enough that he didn’t have any time to worry. It wasn’t until he heard a snort from Eddie that the tense line of his shoulders softened, and he was able to look back over at the teen and see the grin on his face. “I told you, you’re a _sap,_ Tozier.”   
  
“And I told _you,”_ Richie countered instantly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m only a sap for you, my love.”   
  
Over the fence, Richie could hear the hustle and bustle that was guaranteed on a Derry weekend. The clattering of wind chimes, the laughter of elementary schoolers as they ran (and occasionally fell down) on the snow slick sidewalk and most notably - the distant sounds of thunder that followed snow storms. The last of the snow storms for this year, Richie supposed. The weather in Derry was always dreadful, the small town was in a constant cycle of winter snow or summer rain. It’s a wonder that he spent so much of his childhood outside in those conditions.   
  
Eddie’s fingers were still loosely twined with his when the brunet said, “I don’t think you should come with me, Richie.”   
  
The magnified blue of Richie’s eyes looked so much larger as he focused his shock onto the teen, who winced at the sudden intensity of his best friend’s stare. “What?” An embarrassed flush  spread across the bespectacled boy’s face at the crack that broke his voice. Eddie’s eyes were pitying, _sad_ for Richie.   
  
Anxiety crept up his throat the longer he stared into the unmoving seriousness of Eddie’s golden brown eyes. He laughed then, though it came out sounding choked, hurt. _Such a pity, that Tozier boy is. Such a pity._ _  
_   
“Shouldn’t have kept me in the dark for this long Eds.” His hand fell out of Eddie’s, landing on the nearly untouched box of Winston’s in his lap. Shaky as it was, he managed to pull a coy smile as he looked back at Eddie. “Say boy, ‘f ya didn’t want me ‘round I coulda got’n outta yur hair months ago.”   
  
The asthmatic’s face slowly morphed from the unwavering look of sadness, to one of agitation. “Oh after _all of this_ you can’t _seriously_ think...” Eddie cut himself off, panic flaring up his nostrils and sending one of his hands to fumble for the front pocket of his jeans that no longer held his aspirator. With a wheeze in his breath, he clenched the previously searching fist in his lap. “If you think I don’t want you around me Richie Tozier, you are _sadly_ mistaken. I know you would rather believe that then the alternative, but don’t you start acting like I can’t stand your presence. You know that I don’t.”   
  
“ _Do I?”_ Richie challenged, anger flooding through him the longer Eddie’s words lingered in his mind. The wind chimes began to shriek loudly, and gusts of cold air rattled the metal cans surrounding the two eighteen year olds. “Do I know that? Because lately, the cashier at Freese’s has seen more of you than I have.”   
  
Eddie was trembling, whether it was from the cold or the obvious frustration coursing through him, Richie wasn’t too sure. He also wasn’t too sure if he cared to know anyways, and _why should he?_ Since they won’t have anything to do with each other after high school.   
  
“You’re such a jackass.” Eddie gritted out, blinking fiercely to rid his eyes of the tears accumulating there. “I don’t know what else to _do._ Being around you makes it _worse.”_    
  
The two boys stared at one another, the air between them tense and the frustration even thicker. Richie blinked, his eyes scanning across Eddie’s face as the teen slowly gained some of his composure. The wind chimes from the other side of the fence were rattling against the doors they were attached to ear piercingly loud, the wind was so rough that some of the pieces of litter that never made it into the bins placed around the alley started to slide across the concrete. The sky darkened above them, which meant that the snow would start coming at any moment.   
  
With his thin jacket on, Richie‘s lower lip was shaking, but his own warmth came as a second thought.   
  
“I-I think you lost me, Spaghetti.”   
  
Eddie’s head dropped forward, his chin rested against his chest that let out a rattling exhale. He swung his body around, so that his legs were placed flat on the ground in front of Richie - so close that his knees were nearly touching the taller teen’s chest. “The more time I spend around you, the less likely it is that I’m going to get over you.”   
  
Richie’s breath caught in his chest.   
  
Eddie looked towards the fence behind Richie, and his face wrinkled up. “You’re always so hard on yourself. What could have possibly made you think I didn’t want to be around you?”   
  
“Aside from the fact that you said it?” Richie asked, hoping the waver in his voice was unnoticeable.   
  
“I said you shouldn’t go to New York with me.” Eddie corrected, his frown deepening as the wind whipped around him, blowing his hair around his head. “Not that I didn’t want you to go with me. More than _anything,_  I want-“ He cut himself off, eyes going dark as he cast them away from Richie’s face. “When I kissed you, it wasn’t because I wanted to prove anything to myself. When I did it I... I already knew.”   
  
“That you’re gay?”   
  
“That I love you.” Eddie smiled sadly. “But yeah, _that too.”_   
  
It shouldn’t have come as a shock, not really. Eddie was right - he never gave himself enough credit. Never fully grasped that sometimes, it’s easier to believe everyone hates you then it is to acknowledge that someone loves you. Stewing in self pity can become more comforting than acknowledging that you’re worthy enough for someone to want you, to give a shit about you. He had convinced himself that he was a tumultuous asshole and that everyone who cared for him in the slightest was being tricked, by his humor, by his lovable charm, it didn’t _really_ matter. Staring Eddie in the eyes, his face honest and his heart on his sleeve, Richie felt something click.   
  
Because _God_ , doesn’t this just make so much sense? _He loves me._ Richie grabbed the werewolf mask from under his arm, and he tossed it over Eddie’s head and into the open garbage can behind him.   
  
“You’re trying to get over me, huh?” Richie mused, a smile spreading across his face. “I would suggest macking on some other cool head but I dunno if it could compare to ol’ Trashmouth.”   
  
The hypochondriac still looked uncertain, fearful. The sad smile on his face looked less miserable, the beginning of relief coloring his features and bringing the drained color back to his paling cheeks. “Don’t be so confident.” He started, teasingly. “I _do_ have a frame of reference, after all.”

Richie blinked. “You’re serious?”

Gently, Eddie kicked Richie’s knee with the tip of his boot covered toe. “Is it _that_ surprising that someone in this town wanted to kiss me?”

 _Not at all_. Richie narrowed his eyes at Eddie, analyzing his very calm and collected posture. “It was Bill, wasn’t it?” He asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of his accusation. Judging by Eddie’s snort, it didn’t work. “Don’t laugh Eds, this is _serious_ business. I need to know who this mystery stud is.” _The mystery stud who is allegedly, a better kisser than me._

Lightning zipped through the clouds behind Eddie’s head, and a clap of thunder rumbled right behind it. It seemed idiotic, to be sat in the freezing alleyway next to Freese’s on Valentine’s Day while a snowstorm is on the way. But there was something that told Richie they were better off here than anywhere else, _after all_ , who would want to see two eighteen year old boys alone together on the most romantic holiday of the year. That thought alone had Richie’s throat drying up, and staring up at Eddie, with his bashful grin and nervous blush - amplified the anxiety.

“Why do you care?” Eddie was teasing him still, and _that_ just wouldn’t do. “It’s not like I’m going to go telling everyone that you’re a bad kisser.”

Richie scoffed, his mouth falling open at the accusation. “Are you trying to goad me into kissing you again?”

Eddie shrugged - his confidence not wavering for a second. Which in and of itself, was pretty attractive. The brunet glanced down at his boots, which were still gently toeing at Richie’s knees, sat in front of him. He looked back up through his lashes, a smile on his face. “Is it working?”

The hazy feeling in Richie’s mind felt similar to the haze he felt after being pushed on top of his bicycle all of those months ago only to clunk his head against the concrete. Looking Eddie in the eyes as the teen kneeled over his injured and prone form, trembling and on the brink of tears. But that was _then_. _Then_ , being, the time before the acts of silent rebellion that pushed Sonia into locking him in his room, yelling at Wentworth in Freese’s and accusing Richie Tozier of turning her son gay.

 _Then_ , could also describe the time before the kiss. The time before Eddie did something that was brave beyond disobeying his abusive mother, something that risked _everything_ for him.

Richie had heard his entire life, that your teenage years were the most important years of your life. He dismissed it as shit adults say to scare you off of your ass. But with this view of Eddie, one that was in direct contrast to the same view he had only a few holidays ago, he believed that saying might hold some truth.

Eddie had _grown._

Just like everything else in life, he wanted to be by Eddie’s side in this. Even if _this,_ meant growing up.

With a steady hand, Richie grabbed onto the lapels of Eddie’s coat and pulled himself up on his knees so they were face to face. His other hand snuck up under Eddie’s chin, and tilted his head upwards so the golden eyes of his best friend were staring directly into his. The smaller teen’s breath caught, and his eyes widened, which would have been imperceptible had Richie not been so close.

“You might have to help me out here, Eds.” Richie teased, his fingers spreading out under Eddie’s jaw so his thumb could gently stroke against the quivering jaw line. “I’ve heard I’m not that great of a kisser.”

All it took, was a tug of Eddie’s lapel and the downwards tilt of Richie’s chin for their lips to tentatively meet. Eddie’s breathing picked back up against the contact, the exhaled gasp against Richie’s mouth proved that much. The uncertainty of his inexperience with men faded away with Eddie’s lower lip in between the lips of his chapped mouth. He knew Eddie wasn’t a girl, he was acutely aware of that, but kissing him didn’t feel any different than kissing a girl.

It was exhilarating, and when Eddie reached a hand up to grasp at Richie’s forearm and pull him in closer, he didn’t feel any of the hesitation he had before.

The slide of their lips became less tentative, avid and confident as Richie moved his hand from the lapels of Eddie’s coat and gripped the side of his lithe waist to yank him closer. Eddie was inexperienced, that much was obvious as Richie slid his tongue along the seam of his best friend’s lips and was met with dubious balking.

He broke away from the hypochondriac, his lips much colder in the naked air with a layer of saliva coating them. The other teen was quietly wheezing, his breaths coming out in short puffs and his cheeks bright red. Richie didn’t suppose he looked much better in comparison, what with his mouth still slightly agape and his eyes wide behind his glasses. The hand cupping Eddie’s jaw slowly slid down to rest atop his heaving chest, the tight vice of Eddie’s fist around his wrist didn’t let up.

“That an improvement?” Richie spoke in a whisper, pride obvious in his tone.

“You taste like tobacco.”

With a shaky hand, Eddie reached into the front pocket of his pants and pulled out a handful of mints, Richie’s knife sat amongst them. He scoffed, and plucked one from Eddie’s palm to toss into his mouth - tingling with the reminder of what his best friend’s lips felt like against his. “Bet your mystery stud tasted like mints.” Richie inquired, smiling at the responding eye roll.

“He tasted like chapstick.” Eddie replied boredly, his eyes traced Richie’s mouth as he spoke. With a playful grin, Eddie looked back up into Richie’s eyes. “If you don’t stop lingering on my _mystery stud,_ I’m going to assume you’re jealous.”

Thoughtfully, Richie hummed. “Eddie my love, I would never hide my detest for another man who takes your eyes away from me.”

Eddie slapped his arm, and as many times as he had smacked Richie, it was only then that the bespectacled teen realized just how _flirty_ it was. Much more subtle than Richie had ever been with his own flirtations. “You were right the first time, it was Bill.” And Richie couldn’t say _positively_ that he wasn’t miffed by that. “It was more of a courtesy kiss than anything else, I wasn’t sure whether or not I was gay and naturally - I went to Bill for help.”

“Naturally.” Richie mimicked, smiling around the mint in his mouth.

A snowflake glided down to land on the very tip of Eddie’s pointed nose, his eyes going crossed to stare at it. With a huff, he wiped the melted snow away and flicked the water towards Richie with his fingertips. “That’s not what this is, right?” Eddie asked, and at Richie’s questioning look, he grimaced. “A _courtesy._ A _‘sorry you’re in love with me despite my not being gay Eds, here’s a kiss to make up for it.’”_

“That’s a pretty spot on impression.” The mint finally dissolved on Richie’s tongue, and he sucked in a breath of cold air. “I don’t just go kissin’ anyone Eds, I’m a man of monogamy. I have my reasons.”

The two stared at one another, hesitance in Richie’s eyes and expectancy in Eddie’s. The snow was falling, but it wasn’t enough to do anything more than coat the ground in a thin layer of ice that would likely melt within a day or two. That being said, it wasn’t any more _warm_ , not by a long shot. Richie presumed they only had a few minutes before they had to get the hell out of that alley. “Maybe I don’t want you to get over me.”

Another wheezing breath, followed by the fluttering of Eddie’s eyes is what had Richie reaching for his best friend again.

Eddie grabbed his wrists in the midst of his reaching, an iron grip just barely keeping his hands from clutching the hypochondriac’s midriff. Pleadingly, Eddie looked from his wrists to his eyes - desperation coloring the warm brown irises. “Please don’t play with me.” And _oh was it intimidating_ , to be the reason for the fear in Eddie Kaspbrak’s voice.

“Eddie, I save playing for _games_ and I don’t think of this as a game.”

The teen’s eyes darted between Richie’s - scouring his face intensely, before a grin split his face and a giggle erupted from between his lips. He unclasped one of his hands from around Richie’s wrist to cover his mouth. “You just called me _Eddie_.”

“Now you _know_ I mean business.” Richie winked, his freed hand snaking around Eddie’s waist and pulling his thin frame closer. “Makes me feel all tingly inside that you’re including me in your journey of self discovery.”

Eddie lurched forward and captured Richie’s newly mint flavored lips in his, kissing no longer than a couple seconds before pulling away with a flushed face and bright eyed smile. “You’re a complete jackass.” He pecked Richie’s lips, ignoring the frustrated grunt from the other teenager as his attempts to deepen the kiss were stopped in its tracks. “Come to New York with me.”

“Baby, ah thought you’d never ask.”

+

 

It was _silly,_ to be insecure about owning expensive things. Richie maintained modesty - _humility,_ and anyone who knew him for anymore than ten minutes would know that. Especially his childhood best friend. It was hard though, not to feel like he was on display as Eddie Kaspbrak slowly walked into his living room with gradually widening brown eyes. Now framed with a pair of glasses very similar to the ones Richie still occasionally wears when he’s not in the mood for contacts.   
  
Though, Eddie’s frames were thinner - _sleeker,_  more attractive even.   
  
“This is all yours?” Eddie asked quietly, disbelief coloring his tone. He stood over the couch, hesitantly, as if he wasn’t certain whether he was allowed to sit on it.   
  
”Sure is.” Richie nodded, feeling hot behind the ears at the sheer awe on the shorter man’s face. The comedian flopped down on the mahogany couch and gestured with a lazy smile towards the cushion next to him. “You’re not intimidated, are you?”   
  
That got Eddie moving, the bespectacled man scowling to cover up a growing smile and flopping down on the cushions.  “Still a jackass, I see.”   
  
“I’ll say.”   
  
Eddie looked _awkward,_ that much was obvious by the slow twitching of the corner of his mouth. His desire to talk was overpowered by his loss of words, his helplessness at seeing someone who meant so much to him for the first time in years. “I didn’t mean to... intrude.” He said quietly, and the demanding front he had from behind Richie’s front door had dissipated. The man shifted, his khakis sliding against the material of Richie’s couch unpleasantly. “I just had to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind.” He laughed, it sounded forced.   
  
“Losing your mind? Eds, you and I both know that we left our minds back in Derry.”   
  
And that wasn’t exactly a lie, was it? Richie felt like he was losing his mind too, that the longer he stared at Eddie - the memories that were so jumbled he forgot they existed in the first place, became clear and crisp. As clear as the man sitting on the couch next to him, still awkwardly twiddling his thumbs and chewing on his lower lip to the point that it bled. A part of him wasn’t sure if the alcohol still running through his system had conjured up a hallucination of sorts, and was feeding him false information about a past life that just gave him the yearning sensation of missing someone who was never really there.   
  
Or maybe he _had_ lost his mind. Sure as shit wouldn’t be a surprise, to him or to anyone around him. He could imagine newspaper stands filled to the brim with “ _Rich Records, off his rocker_ ” splashed across the tabloids, the sympathetic words from Johnny Wilson reading loud and proud inside the covers.   
  
“ _Always knew that bastard was strange - ever since his old man passed, he was like a ticking time bomb. When he started talking to himself, making up stories about a clown that lived in shit... well, that’s when the dam broke I s’pose._ ”   
  
“Would you like a drink?” Richie asked raggedly as he stood, if he _was_ losing his mind - hell, there’s no turning back now.   
  
“Doubt that’s a good idea.” Eddie chuckled, leaning back against the couch cushions, his mouth twisted bitterly. “I still have to drive back to my hotel after this.”   
  
Richie frowned, turning towards the man questioningly as he grabbed his bottle of gin off of the kitchen counter - best not to bother with a glass this time around. “The fuck are you talking about?” He sat back down on the couch next to Eddie, flicking the lid off of his bottle and taking a swig. “You aren’t seriously planning on driving into the city this late?”   
  
“Are you doubting my driving ability?” Eddie asked, clearly teasing.   
  
“‘Course not, babe.” Richie tapped against the bottle of liquor with his fingernails, most of which were barely more than bitten and chewed off nubs. “Just figured you would stay...” He set the bottle on the counter to wildly gesture around his house with a grin, he glanced down at Eddie - who’s teasing smile had faded into a heavy frown. “It’s not everyday I get to see my childhood best friend.”   
  
The room was eerily silent after that, and Richie had to make a conscious effort not to change the conversation topic and pretend he had never offered to let Eddie Kaspbrak stay in his home. He _wanted_ this, he didn’t want this crystal clear image of his past life to disappear again, and leave another throbbing headache as his mind desperately tries to cling onto the slipping memories. Even if he was losing his mind, this was surely better than whatever he was feeling before.   
  
“You don’t remember either.” Eddie said finally, a look of realization dawning on him that made Richie feel _exposed_ . But what an interesting way to phrase an accusation, you don’t remember either. Eddie laughed then, a relieved sound that was laced with hidden frustration. “Isn’t that _fucking convenient?”_  


Richie’s hand shook around the bottle as he tipped the alcohol back and let the warmth burn down his throat. With a discontented belch, he stretched his legs out to prop on top of the coffee table - letting his head fall onto the couch cushions behind him. “Gotta be honest Eds, I’m not following.” His head lolled to the side, towards the still tense silhouette of Eddie Kaspbrak. “Had _way_ too many drinks to be solving riddles tonight.”

_And there’s still the chance I’m going insane._

All Richie could really focus on were the frown lines in Eddie’s cheeks that were deeper than he remembered them being, and the way the twenty nine year old was slowly wearing at his lower lip. Gnawing and gnawing away, threatening to draw blood.

“Hey.” Richie gently touched Eddie’s arm, and nearly gasped aloud as the brunet flinched visibly. He laughed, forcibly and a tad fearfully. “You’re thinking too hard, my love. It doesn’t matter how we got here.” Richie gently held out the bottle of gin towards Eddie, his honey eyes glanced down at the offering and slowly let his gaze drift to Richie’s red rimmed blue eyes. “The point is, _we’re here._  Isn’t that enough to celebrate?”

Eddie looked back down at the bottle of gin, and with a shaky hand, took it from Richie’s grasp and set it on the coffee table in front of him. He looked back down at Richie, eyes watering and breath wheezing. “Do you remember the night that you gave me this?”

“Shit Eds, that was years ago.” Richie cleared his throat awkwardly, and shifted so he was sitting straight. “Why don’t you uhh… jog my memory?”

The grandfather clock in the foyer that lead into Richie’s living room let out two muted chimes, announcing the very late, very surreal hour and reminding Richie of just how exhausted he really was. And once again, the ever looming presence of his dwindling youth slapped him in the face. _Everyday you inch closer and closer to turning in at nine o’clock sharp, Tozier._

Eddie let his hands fall limply into his lap, where he decided to keep his vision trained. “I don’t remember it either.” He smiled then, sadly. “A few months ago, one of my colleagues suggested that my company should become more widespread. New York was a great _start,_ but if we want to become the gold standard for chauffeuring… California is the place to be.”

“And he was right. California _is_ the place to be, at least, for celebrities who are too drunk to drive themselves home.” Eddie cast a sly look at Richie. “I was only here this week to work out the logistics; who gets to run the western branch, who our sponsors are going to be and who we should label as regular customers. Dreadfully _boring_ topics, I know. I can only assume that’s why _someone_ in that room decided to turn on the radio.”

Eddie shook his head, a fond smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t recognize your voice, at first. You’ve become so good at those ridiculous voices - all I remember thinking was, _God, Rich Records is such a tacky name. Is this what I’m to expect from all Beverly Hills celebrities?_ ”

Richie snorted at that. “Oh c’mon baby, don’t tell me you wouldn’t let a guy named Rich Records take you for a spin around the Hills.”

“It hit me when you announced the next song,” Eddie continued, ignoring Richie’s leering grin. “Fool’s Paradise by Buddy Holly. Your favorite song to sing loudly and obnoxiously in my ear when I was doing schoolwork. I left that meeting early, lucky I kept my aspirator on me. I felt like I was going to pass out from the onslaught of half baked memories that only made me believe that my brain finally stopped fucking working like my Ma always thought it would.”

The bitter edge in Eddie’s voice was another reminder, of the large woman who kept him locked in his bedroom - determined to keep him safe from the evil of the outside world until she died, or until he died. Whichever came first.

“Once the memories started making _some_ sense… I decided that the only reason they disappeared in the first place was due to some sort of trauma suppression. Memories of something chasing you in the dark underground cavern of the Derry sewer systems? File it as traumatic. Memories of your own mother grabbing you by the jaw and force feeding you medication? Lock them all away. Memories of Richie Tozier leaving you to go to California and never speaking to you again?” Eddie gestured with the sweep of his hand. “You get the idea.”

His head lolled to the side, unkempt brown curls brushing against Eddie’s shoulder as he leaned closer. “Eds,” His voice rumbled, and he felt the man next to him tremor. “You know I would never purposefully keep you waiting.”

There was something Richie was missing, just _barely_ missing. He had always sobered up fairly fast, the longer his mind tried to process what the tension in the air _meant_ , the more he felt his alcohol addled mind become clearer. Eddie’s breathing was labored, not unlike the way it used to get when they were kids and he had an asthma attack. He still wasn’t looking at Richie, his wide eyes laser focused on his own clenched fists that seemed to shake a little harder with every breath exhaled.

“Jesus.” Eddie finally breathed out, his hands unclenching in his lap. Underneath the gentle yellow glow from the lamp in the corner of the den, the brunet’s frown lines looked softer. Not as harsh and unhappy as they seemed underneath the fluorescent glare of Richie’s porch light. “Guess we were right, Derry _is_ cursed.”

“We didn’t need an impromptu memory wipe to prove that.”

There was a lingering silence between the two men, the kind of silence that couldn’t be described as anything _but_ awkward. It felt wrong, to be so uncertain around the one person Richie knew, deep down, that he trusted more than anyone else in the world. He certainly couldn’t say the same about his colleagues, as much fun as he had in the Hollywood scene - entertainers were _ruthless_. Hell, Johnny Wilson, as cynical and jaded as the older man was, was still the man closest to Richie, and he wouldn’t trust Wilson as far as he could throw him.

He couldn’t trust his memory, but he trusted _Eddie_. He didn’t need to have a full scope of the years they spent together to be completely certain that he _shouldn’t_ feel awkward around Eddie. He should just feel… _like_ _Richie_ _Tozier_. It sounded a hell of a lot better than feeling like Rich Records.

“I was in love with you.” Richie drawled, his voice still heavy from the alcohol lingering in his system. He watched Eddie freeze from the corner of his eye, and his head lolled back towards the bespectacled man, certainty colored his posture, his tone. Everything was scrambled in his mind, _everything_ was hard to understand. Looking at Eddie Kaspbrak, was like looking at a lighthouse in the midst of a dark and foggy night. He couldn’t remember their life together, not quite, but he was old enough - _smart enough_ \- to know what Eddie meant to him. “Probably still am.”

“I’m engaged.”

There was a brief moment, where Richie Tozier was positive he misread the situation entirely. That Eddie Kaspbrak came here, not to revive the forgotten relationship that they had, but instead to personally inform his old best friend of his marriage. Perhaps, to even ask if he wanted to be the best man. That brief moment, as miserable as if was, was _fleeting_. Because within the next second, Eddie looked back at Richie, pain twisting his attractive features into something unlike the Eds that Richie grew up with.

There were _some_ benefits of being a nearly thirty year old man, and one of those benefits was having enough life experience underneath your belt to jump to a conclusion that _made sense_ , instead of lingering on a terrifying conclusion - one that was self deprecating by nature.

Another benefit, was the legal ability to drink as much alcohol as you need to give you the confidence to look your newly engaged best friend, the rediscovered love of your life in the eyes and say, “Let me take you out.”

A range of emotions crossed Eddie’s face at the proposition. From bewilderment to excitement and back again. Though, his eyes, which had looked so dull before - lit up. And the golden tint that Richie loved so much made him look years younger. And _God_ , did Richie love his eyes. “You’re drunk.” Eddie stated the obvious. “And it’s the middle of the night, there’s nothing open around here besides gay bars and a Waffle House.”   
  
Richie snorted. “Those sound like two perfectly plausible options.” He paused, and his lips tilted upwards into a goofy grin. “For _us,_ at least.”   
  
“What are you up to, Trashmouth?” Richie suspected that the fondness in Eddie’s voice as he said the nickname wasn’t intentional. Regardless, his chest seized up in response.   
  
“You’re a _tourist_ , my love.” Richie stood, he took on a lavish grin as he stared down at Eddie - the hesitance on his face gradually morphing into an eager grin. “Leave all the worrying to me, your lowly tour guide, and keep them out of that pretty little noggin.”   
  
Richie went to gently thump his knuckles against the top of Eddie’s head, only for his hand to be slapped away. “You’re _not_ getting behind the wheel of a car.” Richie jutted his lower lip out, childishly. “It’s illegal. And as much as I love the thought of us either wrecking one of your disgustingly expensive cars or getting arrested for driving under the influence - I would rather not have to call Myra to bail me out of Los Angeles.”   
  
Richie hummed, disinterestedly. “ _Myra._ Hmm, I’m feeling more and more like a mistress with every passing second.”   
  
The smaller man glared, and the golden brown of his eyes had faded back to the dull dark color that it was before. He didn’t have to say what he was thinking, not aloud. He didn’t have to ask Eddie why he was getting married to a woman, as a gay man. He didn’t have to ask if Eddie loved the woman, loved her the way an engaged man should love his bride to be. He didn’t have to ask if Eddie was planning on leaving Myra. If _that’s_ why he decided to hunt Richie down, just to see if the Hollywood man would take him back with open arms. They both knew the answers to all of those questions, there was no need to speak them into existence.   
  
“We don’t have to drive.” Richie smiled, he knelt down in front of Eddie, their faces so close that their noses were nearly brushing. “You ever rode on someone else’s handlebars?”   
  
The brunet’s face paled. “You know that I haven’t.”   
  
“Don’t worry, Spaghetti Head.” Richie winked. “I’ll make sure the cutest boy in Hollywood gets around safe.”

+

 

The coming of spring meant one very important thing for The Losers, and that was, the disappearance of snow. While everyone in Derry, Maine was abuzz over the return of sunshine and flowers, the lucky seven didn’t wait a minute to hop on their bikes and book it down to the Barrens. Where their underground clubhouse was once again accessible. Richie couldn’t been more excited to hop onto his bicycle, which had looked so very lonely sitting in the Tozier’s dusty garage for all of those winter months.  
  
It was late March, and the sky was without a single cloud. Just a beautiful bright blue stretched across every horizon, with the sun’s yellow rays hitting every nook and cranny in Maine.   
  
As Richie peddled down Kansas Street, the Kenduskeag in his peripheral, he felt the airy happiness that came with springtime sending his bike faster and faster. The sunlight reflecting off of the stream would occasionally bounce off of the lenses of his coke bottle glasses, and had any of the other Losers been riding with him - they would have joked about how Richie Tozier is the only guy in Derry with headlights on his bike.   
  
Though, that wouldn’t be entirely true. As Stan Uris did have a makeshift headlight strapped to the front of his bicycle, one he had ever since he joined the boy scouts in second grade. As Richie neared the wooded area that hid the lucky seven’s clubhouse, he flew by a group of kids splashing around in puddles of melted snow.   
  
He chuckled to himself as he saw one of the kids splatter mud across the front of his pants, and continue jumping as if nothing had happened. _Hope the kid has a mom like Maggie_ , Richie thought to himself - a smile tilting his features, _the type of parents who lets kids be kids._ _  
_   
“ _Hey! It’s the werewolf!”_  He heard one of the kids crow excitedly as he passed by the small group. With a roll of his blue eyes, he turned his head and let out an exaggerated howl before disappearing down the sloped form of the road before him.   
  
Richie wasn’t the least bit shocked to find a stack of bicycles hidden underneath the nanny berry bushes on the side of the road, just before the path that led into the Barrens.   
  
1965 had proved itself to be no different than any of the years before it, so far. He tried not to linger too hard on the fact that this would be the last time the lucky seven kept their traditions. He knew better than to believe they were all staying in Derry, hell, he would be surprised if _one_ of them decided to stay. Something told him that despite their mutual want to leave the city they grew up in, one of them would be obligated to stay. The thought was as fleeting as the feeling of terror that spiked through him at the realization.   
  
The clubhouse door was wide open when Richie made his way through the brush and into the small clearing of land where his friends were scattered about. Ben, Mike and Eddie sat atop the piling of rocks that surrounded the water that led into the Kenduskeag - Ben had a book opened atop his lap, and Mike sat over his shoulder looking at the unknown content inside. Eddie had his legs stretched out in front of him, and his head tilted back towards the sky - as if he was soaking in the nonexistent sunlight that couldn’t permeate it’s way through the trees. He was the first to notice Richie’s presence, and the sweet smile on his face at the acknowledgment of Richie’s presence kickstarted the latter’s heart.   
  
Inside of the clubhouse, Beverly Stan and Bill sat together in a three man circle, a stack of playing cards in each of their hands and the rest set in a neat pile in the center of them.   
  
Playing cards had become the Losers’ go to pastime ever since Stan bought a deck in tenth grade, as a group, they decided that go fish was eons more entertaining than skipping stones. Though, Richie didn’t care one way or another. It wasn’t the childish games that made his time with the lucky seven fun.   
  
Beverly was the second of the Losers Club to notice Richie waltzing towards them through the brown leaves that reappeared from under the melted snow. “You’re late.” The redhead singsonged, her eyes never leaving the cards in front of her. Everyone else whipped their heads around towards Richie, and he held up his hands placatingly.   
  
“Time is nothin’ but a ruse, Miss Marsh.” His fake Jersey accent was thick, and the following wink resulted a simultaneous groan from the others. “Besides, it looks better for me when your expectations are low - that’s when I do my best work.”   
  
“You’re unbearable, Richie Tozier.” Eddie sneered, the smile threatening to split his face betrayed his snarling tone.   
  
“ _Gawd damn_ Eds, that one hurt.” Richie crowed, pressing an opened palm over his heart as if the words spoken without any true bite actually painfully stabbed him. Accusingly, the bespectacled teen glanced around at the other Losers’ pointing towards Eddie with his unoccupied hand. “Which one of yous turned my Spaghetti Head into a little ankle biter?”   
  
Without looking up from the book spread across Ben’s lap, Mike spoke up, “You did that all on your own, Tozier.”   
  
“ _Touché_.” Richie hummed over the protesting splutter from Eddie. With a wry grin, he pulled out his pack of Winston’s and waved them in the air tauntingly. “ _Now,_ what were you nerds doing before I showed up?”   
  
“Enjoying the peace and quiet.” Stan spared a glance towards the jokester, frowning at the pack of cigarettes. “And the fresh air.”   
  
Richie shrugged, and made his way over to the stacks of rocks to sit in between Ben and Eddie, his shoes dangled just over the stream so the soles brushed against the lapping water. “Can’t say I’m surprised, Stan the Man.” He leaned back on his palms, tilting his head so he could look in the general direction of the clubhouse where Stan resided within. “Without me, the six of you _are_ pretty damned boring.”   
  
An uproarious groan erupted from the rest of the lucky seven, and Richie snickered as Mike playfully flicked some of the water from the Kenduskeag into his face. With a giggle, he brushed the droplets away with his palms, and pulled his glasses off the wipe the water off of his lenses.   
  
“What? Not a single _beep beep?”_  Richie challenged, he spared a glance to his side, where Eddie had his knees pulled up to his chest to rest his chin atop them - a fond smile on his thin face. “C’mon Spaghetti, gimme your _worst_.”   
  
The brunet leaned forward, his eyes still soft and gentle, and the callous that was usually displayed oh so proudly across his face when bantering with Richie wasn’t present. There was a brief moment, where Richie thought Eddie was attempting to close the gap between them and kiss him directly on the mouth in front of all of their friends. That brief moment haltered all of his bravado in it’s tracks, and the second his expression quavered, the brunet backed away with a wide grin. “You have mustard,” He reached a hand up and swiped his thumb across Richie’s cheek, smiling wryly when he felt the taller teen’s breath come out shakily across his palm. “Do you _ever_ clean your face?”   
  
Quickly, Richie recovered, and he made a show of scoffing and swatting away Eddie’s hand. “Cleaning my face would get rid of all of my natural rugged charm, my dear.”   
  
“You’re confusing r-ruh-ruggedly charming with dirty a-and d-duh-disrespectful.” Bill spoke up; and the hold that Eddie and Richie had on one another seemed to break. Though, not without a few knowing glances from Ben Hanscom and Mike Hanlon. Both of which decided to giggle behind their shared book at Richie’s slowly reddening face.   
  
“Jokes on you Big Bill - one of these days when I become famous, dirty and disrespectful will be my _gimmick_.”   
  
The lucky seven didn’t stay seven for very long that afternoon, most of them having spring cleaning responsibilities that their parents were forcing them to attend to or last minute homework that needed to be finished.   
  
The sun setting in the Barrens had always been a strange sort of beautiful. The Barrens themselves, weren’t beautiful. As much as Richie loved the place, he was well aware of it’s hideous appearance and equally putrid stench. However, when the sun started dipping on the horizon, and when the murky brown of the water became orange and pink with the reflection of the sky that barely peaked through the trees, the Barrens actually looked like a place people would _want_ to spend their time. And not just a place that the Losers chose to stay at in the first place because everyone in Derry outcasted them.   
  
Richie felt a bit like a broken record, as he glanced over at Eddie Kaspbrak under the dimming sunlight and idly wondered for what had to have been the millionth time if the hypochondriac just looked beautiful in every light. At least, Richie had yet to see an unflattering angle on Eddie.   
  
Both of them were sat on the largest rocks that encircled the water in their shared silence, which was as comforting as it was anxiety inducing, at least on Richie’s end, and every time he glanced at Eddie through his peripherals, just looking at the sky with orange reflecting in his golden eyes, he nerves felt alight. With an unsteady hand, Richie reached into his pocket and pulled out his Winston’s, he could feel Eddie’s eyes avert from the darkening sky to his face as he fired up a match against the rock underneath him to light the cigarette in between his lips.   
  
“I hate it that you do that.” Eddie sighed after Richie took his first puff from the cig.   
  
“Not all of us have the self restraint you do my precious Spaghetti.” He spoke with a bite, but the loving cadence he always seemed to get only served for the words to sound teasing, playful - _flirty._    
  
Eddie was frowning, that much Richie was certain of despite his avoidance of eye contact as he stared across the Barrens. A gust of wind whipped between the trees, and seemed to grab ahold of the smoke at the end of Richie’s Winston and drag it farther away into the next town over. The shorter teen pulled his knees up to his chest to rest his cheek against them, his eyes hazy and tired as he watched Richie smoke. “Don’t be snarky, Rich. I just want you to live to see New York, that’s all.”   
  
There was a part of Richie that wanted to be offended. That wanted to blow cigarette smoke into his boyfriend’s face and ask what his deal was, why he was so goddamned focused on Richie’s problems when he had so many of his problems to sort through?   
  
He knew better, though. After all of these years of speaking before he could think, and fucking up a potentially strong moment with Eddie - or with any of his friends, for that matter, he knew better than to jump to an accusatory conclusion. Eddie wasn’t lingering on Richie’s problems to take attention away from his own, he was just _concerned_. There was no ill intentions behind Eddie’s worry, just an old habit of worrying strongly over the health of the people that you love caused by the lifelong cycle of abuse he had endured.   
  
Richie rolled his eyes, and put out the cigarette against the rock he lit it on. “You don’t have me fooled Eds, you’re just sick of kissing on a mouth that tastes like tobacco.”   
  
“That could be it.” There was a grin in Eddie’s voice.   
  
The sky was only just fading to a deep purple, the hours so much longer in spring, when Eddie moved from the position he sat at on top of that rock all day long to right next to Richie. And there was still a hesitance in his gaze when he rested his head on Richie’s shoulder, and invitation for Richie to wrap an arm around him, which the bespectacled teen instantly took. With an added glance around the Barrens, to double check that no one was lingering around.   
  
“I wish we could tell them.” Eddie mumbled against the cotton of Richie’s tee shirt, and Richie didn’t have to mull the sentence over for even a second to know who he was talking about.   
  
“About how much you hate the taste of Winston’s?” Richie asked teasingly, a valiant effort to lighten the dreary mood. It seemed to work, to an extent, as Eddie scoffed and tilted his head upwards so he could see Richie’s face from his position with his head on his shoulder.   
  
“I’m sure they already know that.” Eddie paused. “Doesn’t it feel... _underhanded_? To sneak around behind their backs? I’ve lied to Bill so many times I can barely look him in the eyes.”   
  
Richie shifted uncomfortably, letting his eyes drift from Eddie’s searching hazel ones towards the expansive clearing before him. It _did_ feel underhanded, there wasn’t any denying it. Lying to the group of people who he swore he would only be honest with, knowing how hurt they would be that Eddie and he are keeping something to themselves that’s so integral to their lives. The constant overlying question that was, _they wouldn’t hate us for what we’re doing - would they?_ _  
_   
“I’ll tell ya what,” Richie started, a smile stretching across his face as he looked back down at Eddie. “When you and I get hitched, those Losers will be the first people we ring.”   
  
“Jeezum crow... _married_?” Eddie snorted, his pearly white teeth sparkling with the last of the sky’s light reflecting against them. “You’re awfully forward, Richie Tozier. _If_ that were even possible, what makes you think I would say yes?”   
  
“ _Baby_ , I can guarantee you that you won’t ever find a guy who can make a bowl of cranberry sauce the way that I can.”   
  
The only light outside was coming from the dim moon that blanketed Derry in silver. From all around the two teens, the sounds of crickets chirping were a loud and seemingly endless orchestra that ricocheted off of the trees and bounced off of the Kenduskeag’s waters. There was a moment of peaceful silence between Richie and Eddie, wherein they just listened to the crickets and cuddled against one another in the comforting and quiet setting.   
  
”I want to tell them, when we graduate.” Eddie confided, his voice secretive and nervous as if he assumed Richie wasn’t listening, or would get agitated if he was.   
  
“Then we’ll tell them.” Richie nonchalantly shrugged, trying not to give away in his voice how terrifying that very prospect was. In his mind, he knew that the decision was one that needed to be made sooner or later, and despite his own fear towards the situation - it wasn’t _solely_ his decision to make. “Whatcha thinkin’ of saying? I think a subtle ‘ _I’ve had a taste for Spaghetti my entire life’_ is the right way to go for me.”   
  
“Out of all the guys in town and I chose the most annoying one to be my fucking boyfriend.” Eddie grumbled, no true anger in his tone.   
  
Richie cooed, and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s cheek as he pulled the smaller closer to his side. “ _My boyfriend,_ you’re so _cute_ Eds.” Richie kissed his cheek again after the word cute, and with every repetition of the word pecked his face as he said _“Cute, cute, cute.”_

“Don’t you ever get tired of bothering me?” Eddie whined, pushing away Richie’s face from his with an opened palm. He frowned up at the curly haired teen, making sure to get a good look in his mischievous blue eyes before kissing him squarely on the lips. “You don’t know how lucky you are that I happen to think you’re _so cute_ too.”

But Richie did know how lucky he was, and as he cupped the thin face of his boyfriend and pulled him in for a deeper and sweeter kiss. He hoped that he was translating all of the lovely emotions that he had stored away for the asthmatic into that one press of lips against one another. Eddie giggled into the kiss, and pulled away so he could look Richie in the eyes again. “Dibs on Bill as my best man.”

“Oh no _fair.”_ Richie complained, his loud voice bouncing around the Barrens. “You can’t call dibs on a hypothetical.”

“Who says it’s a hypothetical?” Eddie challenged, smug. “I thought you were confident I would say _yes_.”

Richie floundered for a response, before deciding on huffing out a few unsavory words and leaning his head against Eddie’s shoulder. “Don’t be so confident that Bill will say yes, you little minx. I have a few bribes prepared for whoever chooses to be _my_ best man.”

A gust of cold wind blew between the trees at the exact moment that Eddie pressed his nose against Richie’s forehead, smelling the strands of hair that fell against his forehead and kissing the skin hiding beneath it. “Stan will be the perfect best man, Richie.”

And for a moment, with the fantasy of a marriage between him and Eddie - his parents sitting alongside both of their closest friends - Richie allowed himself to _hope._

_For once in his eighteen years of life, he felt like he was in a fool’s paradise._

+

 

Had you been out in the streets of Beverly Hills on that early morning in April of 1976, you wouldn’t have seen Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak. Not at first, at least. Much like the wealthy teenagers who were walking on the sidewalks on their way back to the houses that they snuck out of the night before, all they really saw was the dark blur of a bicycle holding two very grown men skidding down the sloped pavement that glistened with early morning dew. As fast as that old bike was going, their combined cries of joy (from Richie) and fear (from Eddie) loudly rang through the neighborhood.  
  
One of the boys, a teenager of about seventeen, felt his wind blow back the hair from his face as the two men zoomed by. His mouth was agape as he and his friends whipped their heads towards the retreating form of the bicycle.   
  
“Stay away from the sewers, kiddos!” One of the men shouted with a very distinct Irish accent. And just as soon as they had appeared, they were gone again. Only the echoes of yelling bouncing around in the group of teenagers’ minds was a distinct reminder of their fleeting presence.   
  
“What kind of kids spends their time in the fucking sewers?” The teen mumbled, his eyes narrowed in the direction the bike disappeared, as if staring hard enough would bring it back.   
  
Eddie Kaspbrak’s knuckles were stark white as they clutched the handlebars of the rusting bicycle Richie Tozier managed to fish out of the depths of his garage. His golden eyes were squeezed shut, and if it weren’t for the constant bumping and jerking that came with riding atop concrete, or the wind drying out his lips, he could have imagined he was somewhere else. Somewhere that didn’t have the constant threat of toppling from the old and unsteady bike and onto the unforgiving road.   
  
“Why did I let you talk me into this?” The hypochondriac shrieked, his chest heaved harshly, and for a moment he worried that he would need to stop at the nearest pharmacy for an inhaler.   
  
Richie was laughing in his ear, his laugh raspier than Eddie remembered it being, and he supposed that’s what happens after years of smoking cigarettes instead of eating breakfast. He felt fingertips gently brushing against the skin of his clenched knuckles, and the butterflies in his stomach momentarily distracted him from the all consuming fear of falling. “You haven’t changed a bit, Eds!”   
  
Eddie wasn’t sure whether that was meant to be a compliment or an insult, had it been said by anyone else, he would have immediately been insulted. But there was something genuine and fond in his voice when Richie said it. He opted for keeping his head lowered so his chin touched his chest, maybe then Richie wouldn’t see the way his ears turned bright red.   
  
And really, how embarrassing is _that_. A man of nearly thirty years old blushing like a school girl who met eyes with her crush.   
  
“We’re going to _crash,_  jackass!” Eddie wheezed, the wind carrying his voice into the surrounding air. His arms were shaking, and a huge part of him started to fear that they would give out.   
  
“Why do you think I gave you the helmet?” Richie called, sounding amused, as if the speed at which they were going didn’t bother him in the slightest. And knowing Richie, it probably didn’t. “If we crash, which we won’t, _your_ pretty little head will stay intact. I promise if one of us is to get fatally injured, it’s going to be me.”   
  
“ _Is that supposed to be comforting?”_   
  
“Aw c’mon Eds, you know you can’t fool me.” Richie cooed, his lips brushed against Eddie’s shoulder as he spoke. “You never would have got on this bike if you didn’t trust me.”   
  
Eddie wanted to explain that, _no_ , that’s not entirely true. Of course he trusted Richie, but that didn’t mean he believed a tipsy Richie wouldn’t accidentally tip the bicycle he was swerving through the streets of Beverly Hills on. He didn’t get on the bike because he believed Richie _wouldn’t_ accidentally get them killed, he got on it because a part of him hoped he wouldn’t have to live to leave Richie Tozier. And that part of him was big enough to convince him to hop onto those handlebars to go to Waffle House for a very early breakfast.   
  
It was on the tip of his tongue, the order to pull over and let him throw up the dinner he ate hours and hours ago into the overgrown grass by the sidewalk.   
  
But there was still that looming reminder that he would rather be here, than anywhere else. Would certainly rather be here than back at home with his fiancée, and _that_ was a terrifying thought. Then there was the underlying ecstatic flurry of doing something he had never done before, something that made him feel like a teenager again, something that almost made the blurred memories still lurking in the depths of his mind appear clearer. Which only served to make him feel even more like the lovesick teenager he once was.   
  
“Do you remember walking me home, on Halloween?” Eddie rasped out, his eyes were squeezed shut but he wouldn’t have seen Richie’s response anyways, from behind him. “You did it every year - did you know that? You would insist on doing it yourself, which annoyed me, at first. Didn’t need a goddamned babysitter.”   
  
Richie didn’t respond, which in and of itself was out of character for him. Eddie kept his head lowered, as he nervously cleared his throat and kept talking. “It stopped being annoying after I realized that you just liked walking with me. I really should have seen that a lot sooner, you’ve never been the type to have an ulterior motive.” He decided not to mention that the only reason he realized that is due to Richie’s knack for self deprecation, and how often he would imply that Eddie was far more brave than he.   
  
“That’s when I fell in love with you. When I realized that you wanted to look out for me because you just liked me, not because you thought I needed more care than... than the others.” Eddie tried not to linger too long on the missing fragments in his mind of _the others_ , the nameless and faceless blobs that he knew at some point had impacted his very life the way Richie had. “I swear I just remembered it... just a second ago... but I’ve said all of this to you before, haven’t I?”   
  
There was a lingering silence in the air, one that almost prompted Eddie to turn his head and make sure that Richie was still back there - still peddling the bike like they didn’t have a destination.   
  
“Yeah.” Richie’s voice cut through the silence, thicker, more emotional.   
  
It was easy, so much easier, to be brave when his eyes were shut. To be brave when he didn’t have to look at Richie, or think about Myra, or do anything but ignore the _real_ fears and replace them with the momentary and very secondary fear of falling off of the damned rust collector Richie coerced him into riding.   
  
“Do you remember what you said?”   
  
Eddie’s eyes opened, and all he saw was the green smearing of pine trees covered in morning dew before he felt the bike hit the hard curb of the sidewalk.   
  
The tumble over the hard shoulder of the road wasn’t nearly as life threatening as Eddie had assumed it would be, aside from a few scrapes along his leg from the stray branches that his body slid over. They only slid past a few trees, bike awkwardly tangling together with their limbs when they came to a stop in between the surrounding forest on a semi flat surface.   
  
“ _Fuck_.” Richie croaked out, and Eddie had to scramble onto his knees to see the man sprawled out beneath him. One of the tires, now losing air at a rapid pace, was under Richie’s shoulder and he had one hand pressed to the top of his head - signifying that he bumped it on the way down. He blinked, hard, to clear his vision and met Eddie’s eyes - his gaze hazy. “You really know how to make a guy fall for you, Eds.”   
  
A startled laugh erupted from Eddie. “Jiminy Cricket, you’re a sap.”   
  
The radio star grunted, and shifted so he was no longer lying atop the tire his back was propped on. “Wish I was still drunk.” The man grumbled, his voice raspy. He relaxed on top of the dirt, his hand still pressed to the top of his head of dark curls, and he stared up at the sky through the barrier of pine trees. The sky was steadily turning from black to blue as the the sun rose, yellow light filtered through the leaves and shined on Richie’s exhausted, dirt covered face. “Wouldn’t have hurt nearly as much.”   
  
Eddie unclipped the helmet he wore, setting it down on the ground next to Richie’s head as he leaned over the older man and swatted his hand away from covering the newly formed bump. Hesitantly, he swung one of his legs over Richie’s waist to sit over him as he gently prodded at the top of his head with his fingertips. The sharp intake of breath by Richie wasn’t missed.   
  
“What’s the diagnosis, Doc?”   
  
“The diagnosis is that you need to buy yourself a second helmet.” Eddie dropped his hand, letting it fall onto Richie’s shoulder as he spoke. “And that you should probably go to a hospital.”   
  
And when Richie frowned up at him, Eddie swore that he was in New York again. On a shitty used mattress inside of a tiny apartment barely big enough for the two of them, telling his boyfriend that he had a class that morning and if he didn’t leave he would be late. That memory, it felt like another lifetime, not something that happened when he was 22 years old. “What can a hospital do for me that Doctor K can’t? I’ve got a perfectly good get well kiss right in front of me.”   
  
“Don’t be coy.” Eddie responded, gingerly smacking Richie’s shoulder as the man puckered up his lips. “You can only get so many concussions before that big fat head of yours gives up.”   
  
“You’re so cruel to me, my love.” Richie hissed through clenched teeth and grasped at his heart, halfheartedly playing up his pain. “At this rate my heart will hurt more than my head.”   
  
Deep down, Eddie Kaspbrak knew better than to entertain this. Entertaining it meant that he was subjecting himself to more pain than he was willing to deal with. Richie Tozier had always been just within reach, but not close enough for Eddie to ever have. He didn’t have to remind himself of what was waiting for both of them when they climbed back onto the road and walked home with pieces of Richie’s broken bike in their arms. _Reality_ was waiting for them. The reality was, that they were both better off continuing their lives without each other in it - that’s what the universe seemed to want.   
  
It was foolish, childish, for their younger counterparts to have ever assumed two gay men could ever thrive as businessmen and stay together. But Eddie, well, he was a bit childish. And he knew that Richie was too.   
  
“ _I’ve always needed you way more than you’ve needed me.”_ Eddie was startled from his thoughts, and he stared down at Richie with wide eyes as the man spoke with his raspy voice. Bashfully, the curly haired man cleared his throat and smiled up at the hypochondriac. “That’s what I told you, back in New York.”   
  
“Yeah.” Eddie mumbled, breathlessly.   
  
Aimlessly, Richie scratched his cheek, which only served to smudge the smearing of dirt that stained his tanned skin. “Didn’t realize how much I missed you, until today.” He continued, he tilted his head back exasperatedly, exposing the long column of his neck before he huffed out a breath of air and looked back at the man above him, sadly. “I don’t think I can lose you again Eddie.”   
  
Eddie sucked in a breath, the first of many signs of an asthma attack. His chest began to feel tight, tight the way it used to feel when he knew he needed his aspirator, desperately. If he still thought he had asthma, he may have pulled out the old inhaler he no longer kept on his person right then and there. Instead, his hand trailed from it’s position resting on Richie’s shoulder, to gently cupping his neck. The curly haired brunet seemed to notice, and the sadness on his face morphed into a worried frown. “Eddie?”   
  
It was cheesy, to say that the moment they kissed again, Eddie felt like he could breathe. But it was true. As soon as he ducked his head down to brush his lips against Richie Tozier’s opened mouth, his chest loosened and the wheeze developing in his throat disappeared.   
  
Richie made a desperate noise into Eddie’s mouth, and the hypochondriac felt one of the radio star’s hands reach up to put an iron grip his waist. It wasn’t romantic, _not really._ There’s nothing romantic about making out while covered in dirt and leaves at seven in the morning. The taste of gin still lingering on Richie’s breath as he licked over Eddie’s lips and sloppily played with his tongue. But it was _Richie,_ and it was Richie was _familiar_. Kissing him was a reminder, that this is what he was meant to be doing.   
  
Not getting married to someone who reminded him so much of his mother that when he woke up next to her in the mornings, he had to bite his tongue as to not accidentally call her _Ma._    
  
Eddie shivered as Richie kissed him deeper, grabbing the back of his neck and sliding their tongues together sensually. This was different, this was so different than kissing his soon to be wife. So different that he wanted to cry at the thought of leaving this, _leaving Richie,_ to go back to the misery that has become his home life.   
  
With a gasp, his broke away from the man below him, the man who’s lips chased his as he pulled away, who’s hands tightened on his waist as if he feared Eddie may disappear from his position right on top of him. Through his heaving breaths, and his darkened eyes, Richie looked up at Eddie quizzically. “Ah say boy... whaht was that all’bout?”   
  
Eddie grinned, his red and bitten lips stretching over his perfect teeth. “You called me Eddie.”   
  
Richie barked out a surprised laugh, his blue eyes wide. “ _Well fuck,_ if I had known all it took to get you to kiss me like that was calling you Eddie I would have dropped the nicknames years ago.”   
  
Eddie shook his head, and he knew he looked fond, he knew it. “You never would have dropped those god awful nicknames.”   
  
“One can dream.” Richie teased, his hands slid gently up and down Eddie’s sides. Softly, he leaned up and pecked the hypochondriac’s lips - smiling lovingly as he watched Eddie’s eyelids flutter in response. “ _Stay with me.”_ _  
_   
And there it was, the indecision that Eddie knew he would be forced to deal with. Choosing between what he should do and what he wants to do. “I’m supposed to get married, Rich.” He spoke quietly, his hand cupping Richie’s cheek and thumbing away the dirt.   
  
“Fuck what you’re supposed to do.” Richie said with vigor, though his voice trembled on the first word. “I know you’re scared Eds, I am too, okay? Everything about this is scary, but we’ve always known that it would be - right?”   
  
Wordlessly, Eddie nodded.   
  
“You think too much Eddie, you always have.” Richie looked pained, anxious as his deep blue eyes jumped back and forth between Eddie’s. The sky was bright blue, the sunshine that peeked through the trees looked brighter than Eddie had ever seen it. _The sun would always be this bright, if you moved here._ _  
_ _  
_ _“We’ll be scared together.”_ Eddie mumbled, the words a distant reminder of Richie’s promise to follow him anywhere he went. He leaned his head back, and took in a deep breath of the earthy air that surrounded him.   
  
“What do you say, Eds?” Richie asked, his voice sounding far away.   
  
A smile tilted Eddie’s lips, and in that moment, he knew for a fact that he had nothing to be afraid of. Not really.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you finally got here, thank you so much for reading! i appreciate all of the support ive received and im glad i finally completed this fic

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve been working pretty hard on this fic for the last month and a half, i was planning on posting it all in one part but hey - what’s a slow burn if you aren’t forced to wait a bit. basically i still have editing to do on the last two parts but they’ll be up soon.
> 
> please leave me a comment for my hnnngh content.


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